


And it Talks in My Sleep

by BadgerSigil



Category: Marvel (Comics), Spider-Gwen (Comics)
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, Fratt - Freeform, M/M, Military Homophobia, Obligatory ninjas, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Shock, Smut, Violence, earth #65, murderdock, sorry it's just like... murderdock has ninja backup dancers I can't rlly do this any other way, spider-gwen spoilers, vague references to languages I cannot speak or write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-26 05:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12052707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadgerSigil/pseuds/BadgerSigil
Summary: "I do commend a man of routine, Mr Castle." The sense of the words registers after the sound of the voice itself. Soft, dark, full of cold, effortless malice.A sense of wrongness creeps up on him. Winds around his throat.The hair on the back of his neck is prickling to attention.It's an effort to turn towards the voice.“Who's there?” He barks at the patch of darkness. There's a chuckle that doesn't sound quite tied to that one spot, but his eyes adjust and he can just make out the outline of a man standing in a gated turning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in (a canon-divergent version) of earth #65, the Spider-Gwen universe, where Matt Murdock was raised by The Hand and Frank Castle is an ex-mercenary turned NYPD detective.
> 
> I hope this makes sense without having read any Spider-Gwen (I tried to reference the important stuff), BUT the story runs parallel to spider-gwen and diverges at some point, so lots of spoilers throughout.  
> When I started the plan was to make it canon-compliant, but inevitably that sorta melted away as I went.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy, I’ll try to make sure everything is tagged as I go, but please do tell me if I missed anything and I’ll do my best to fix and/or tag appropriately.

New York seethes. If Captain Frank Castle ever viewed the city as anything other than an oozing hive of crime and death, the memory of that day is long out of his reach.  
  
Now, every shadowed alley is a potential thief in the dark, every screech of tyres is a possible hit and run and a resulting four hours of paperwork.  
  
On autopilot, he buys his usual order from the local diner- large black coffee, chicken sandwich- and leaves again, feet taking him back to the office as they always do when it's too much. Not enough. All roads lead back to the office.  
  
The case board swims behind his eyes, he has the thing memorised. A new drug trafficking network that nobody can pin down. Of course, they passed the case to him. He has a reputation for being thorough.  
  
(Or obsessive.)  
  
Only, he's missing something. All the usual leads are coming up blank. But, it's what he _does_ , he's determined to have this untangled by Monday, it's just, he can't seem to find the tangles to tease.  
  
And, there’s that nagging suspicion that his unrelenting rhythm that he hammers against crime after crime and case after case, the fight and force he throws at the job day to day, might be unsustainable. That he might have finally driven himself into a dead end. _You can't hide from it forever, Frank. Whatever it is you're working yourself into the ground to keep away, whatever demons you brought back with you, you can't outrun them. You need to face them or they’ll catch up to you, one way or another._ Maria’s words rattle around in his mind. More and more often he finds them coming back to him these days, vivid with his lack of sleep. Try as he might, he can't make himself hate her for leaving when he never paid the truth in them any mind.  
  
His feet take him through his usual alleyway shortcut where less than a week ago he reflexively caved in the face of a would-be mugger.  
  
Sometimes he feels as if the skull he once wore to war, strapped across his chest, has sunk itself into his heart, scrawled itself across his bones. Drags his limbs into action before he knows what he's doing. Mechanical violence. Automated motions. Steered by that wraith he still carries, deeper than skin.  
  
So when the voice comes from the darkness and Frank Castle freezes, when his hands don't snap to his firearm before his conscious mind can so much as register a threat, his breath catches.  
  
"I do commend a man of routine, Mr Castle." The sense of the words registers after the sound of the voice itself. Soft, dark, full of cold, effortless malice.  
  
A sense of _wrongness_ creeps up on him. Winds around his throat.

The hair on the back of his neck is prickling to attention. It's an effort to turn towards the voice.

“Who's there?” He barks at the patch of darkness. There's a chuckle that doesn't sound _quite_ tied to that one spot, but his eyes adjust and he can just make out the outline of a man standing in a gated turning.

“It's better that you don't know who I am.” The voice says smoothly. Frank takes a deliberate step in his direction, needing to show he's not intimidated.  
“Better for who?” Frank lets a bit of growl to slip into his voice. It allows a little of the unnerved jangling in his shoulders to retreat somewhat.  
“It will simply make it easier for you to benefit from what I have to say.”  
“And if I'm not interested?” He says, eyes narrowing.  
“I am confident that you will be interested.” The man says. His voice is full of grinning teeth and Frank flexes his shoulders to shake off the shiver it gives him.  
“I don't have time for games.” Frank turns to move away.  
“They call him Mr Blue.” There is no increased sense of urgency in his tone despite Frank’s threat to leave. He stops despite himself.  
“What.” He snaps, but he knows. A scanned and printed image of tiny cyan coloured packages of heroin is burned onto the inside of his sleepless eyelids.  
“You’ll find his people at the east docks at 11pm tomorrow evening.” The man seems to know instinctively that Frank understands. _How_ he knows exactly what Frank needs to hear is another matter.

Frank narrows his eyes further. Can just make out the glint of grinning teeth, a flash of glasses.  
“You expect me to trust you?” Frank says.  
“ _Trust me?”_ The laughter is sharp, cruel, all of the pleasant lilt vanishing abruptly. The teeth and glasses flash dangerously through the darkness. “Don't do _that_.” He says, sharp as a knife.

There's a crackle, a smell of ozone, Frank blinks and the shape of the man is gone.

Frank snorts.  
“Neat trick. I meant to be impressed?” He rolls his eyes and continues on his way, not, he tells himself, any more swiftly than he would have done otherwise.

*

Frank tries, he really does, to disregard the words of the mystery man with a flare for the dramatic.

A few hours of itching eyes and his body feeling more caffeine than blood, and he finds himself staring into space with the words ‘Mr Blue’ spinning around and around in his mind. He shakes it off and pours over another page of interview statements.

_Mr Blue…_

Another half a page and he drifts again, frowning into space and catching himself wondering… wondering what he has to lose.  
Highlighter pen tapping at the desk top, the words stopped making sense some time ago.  
Drags a hand across his itching eyes and squints down at the page.

The next time his mind wanders, it's to his bed and the bottle of whiskey in the bedside cabinet…

And that's when he coughs and stands, pulls himself together and goes to retrieve his laptop from across the room.

There's no harm in looking into it. Or, at least, if there is, what does it matter?

*

Of course, the information checks out. Frank and a lackey sit and listen to the men on the docks give them enough to move up the chain of command, a location, a name, and Frank fabricates some informant or another made insignificant by the new information.

And that's it.

Only, Frank knows it _isn't._

He doesn't even jump, when, just under two weeks later, there's a little cough from that same dark shadow in that same dark alleyway.  
“Wondered when I'd be seeing you again.” He says.  
“Confident that you _would_ be seeing me again, Mr Castle?” The man says. He sounds amused.  
“Just Castle.” Frank says.

And then it's routine.

Whenever Frank needs a nudge in the right direction, there he is. Lurking just on the edge of sight, leaving with a dramatic little show.

Sometimes during their meetings, Frank catches movement in the corner of his eye, or high up on a fire escape. As quick and as difficult to get a fix on as a black cat.

“What do I call you?” He asks him, the third time.  
“It's better if you don't.” The man replies, and that is that.

*

There is a pattern to the information. Everything he gives him tends to be small. Most commonly new start-ups, feeding them to Frank to snuff them out before they get off the ground.

“You know, Castle.” Jean reclines in the passenger seat of the surveillance van. It's been another long night, but a fruitful one.  
“Your informants are smart guys.” Jean has this trick of mildly bunching her face into an expression that in its ambiguity is unreadable. She could be anywhere between thoughtful and suspicious. It should be unnerving, but not knowing where he stands with her is a staple of their relationship. It would almost be a shame if he ever figured her out.  
“How d’you figure?” He says around a mouthful of doughnut.  
“No interference with the major players.” She says. As usual, he can't tell if she's bouncing off him or downright suspicious. He chews the doughnut thoughtfully and opts to proceed with the former option.  
“Had occurred to me.” He swallows and tips the paper bag in her direction. She shakes her head.  
“And if someone is playing us?” She raises an eyebrow.  
“We’ll still have taken down, what is it now? Six operations?” He takes another doughnut from the bag and shrugs. “We take down the little guys? Major plays remain unmoved. We start ignoring my tips? Major players remain unmoved, only there's all these little guys getting bigger.” He motions with the doughnut, building little imaginary walls.  
“You know, I never had you down as the type to attract whistleblowers.” Jean says, frown deepening. Frank snorts.  
“What's that s’posed to mean?”  
“I _mean_ you're all grizzled and ex… military…” Jean strays through a rare moment of awkwardness behind her stoic face and Frank all but winces.  
“Just say mercenary, Jean.” He sighs. “I ain't gonna blow my top.” She blinks at him for a second, brought out of rhythm by that.  
“Anyway I hope you don't mind me saying but,  you're not the least intimidating cop in the precinct.”

Frank just chews his doughnut and mulls that over. No acting required, she has a point though she may not know exactly how. He's been wondering why him for some time now. Why him and why the dramatic approach. Flat out faking a snitch and running to one of his more sympathetically inclined colleagues wouldn't have raised so many alarm bells. As it is, this guy strode right in, gleefully making himself as suspicious as possible.

He _doesn't_ think about Lisa and how she never did find him intimidating enough to stop her from eating all of the marshmallow pieces out of the Lucky Charms when nobody was looking.

Eventually, Frank just shrugs.  
“I can be cuddly.”  
“Uh huh.” Jean says, and reaches to take a doughnut from the bag. “If we _are_ being played, can't fault whoever it is for improving your mood.”

*

“You're onto me.” Frank freezes, a reaction to that voice that he had trained himself out of for their usual meetings. Not so much for broad daylight at his favourite diner. He makes a mental note to sort out his reliance on routine. One of these days, it's going to get him into real trouble.

“I _was_ enjoying my lunch, Murdock.” He sighs. “Couldn't you have left me to wrestle with my denial for just, I don't know, the remaining…” he glances at his watch. “half hour of lunch break?”  
Murdock chuckles and Frank hears him stand. He moves, light and casual and exactly as Frank imagined he would.  
“Mind if I join you?” He settles in a chair opposite him without waiting for a response.

Frank squints at him, sitting there all straight backed and clean cut, ostentatious cherry-red suit clashing with his obnoxiously red hair. Also, Frank notes with an unnerving interest, he does appear to be _genuinely_ blind.  
“I take it you're doing all this on orders from your boss Fisk, huh?” Frank says. He just doesn't have the patience for this, really. But, the sheer _wickedness_ to the smile that lights up Murdock’s face at his words stirs something in his tired chest.  
“Talk of any links between my client and any criminal activity will be treated as _slander_ , Captain. He is serving his sentence quite honourably.” Frank hates him.  
“Right.” He says flatly. “Well, all that crime you're _not_ instigating in behalf of Wilson Fisk? It means we ain't friends.”  
“But haven't all my helpful nudges in the right  been somewhat… critical to you recent success?” The smile is playing around his mouth now, twisting his lips back from his teeth in a terrible combination of smirk and snarl. Frank’s mouth hardens with distaste.  
“I don't need you.” He spits out, disgusted. Murdock’s smile widens as if he knows something he certainly shouldn't.  
“Me? Or my information? I think thou doth protest too much.” And then, like something out of Frank's nightmare list of situations he does not know how to deal with, he leans forward, and licks his lips.

Frank stares. Blinks, frozen again. How does he get his reaction from him, consistently? Fuck.

“You took my leads, you benefited from them. Does it matter where they came from?” Murdock doesn't even bother to argue the concept of _needing_. He doesn't have to. Maybe he can smell that Frank is bristling, knowing full well that he was flailing out of step before Murdock crept into his life to throw him a poisoned lifeline.

“What do you want from me?” Frank tries to keep the frustration from leaking into his voice. He's caught, he did it himself, and he knows it.  
“ _Want_ from you?” Murdock giggles, horribly delighted. “I would rather not fight you over this in court, for starters.”  
“Just lay it out for me Murdock.” Frank sighs. “I don't have time for games.” Murdock… doesn't exactly give him as accessing _look_ because he can't, but he tilts his head in a sharp little motion that makes it perfectly clear.  
“I would like to continue to benefit from our little dance.” He shrugs. The smile is gone, he's just being straightforward, or, as straightforward as the most corrupt lawyer in New York can get. It feels like a victory, though, not nearly enough of one for Frank to let his guard down.

“You what? Wanna keep informing me so I can take out your competitors? No honour among thieves, huh?”  
“You seem awfully calm about it.”  
“Look.” Frank leans forward in his seat. “You knew I had enough on you to do something about it, or you wouldn't be here. However you get your information, you've been shifty enough that I don't have a handle on _how_ you do it.”  
“I appreciate your honesty.”  
“Cut the bullshit , Murdock.” Frank snaps. “You know you've got me in a corner.”  
“Be that as it may, _Captain.”_ And this time, Frank’s shoulders almost physically twitch with the shiver he gets down his spine at the sound of the word and at the sight of Murdock’s glinting white teeth. “You are _benefiting_ from my help, like it or not. As you said to your partner, the little guys still get taken down either way…” Frank keeps his face impassive, but it’s getting difficult to hang onto. He wants to shout at him, punch that smug fucking smile off his face, wants to overturn the table and send his coffee splashing all over that loud red suit. Instead he just allows his eyes to narrow a little. It's a meagre translation of the way his heartbeat is hammering an agitated rhythm on the inside of his rib cage, of his blood pressure pounding his ear drums. _Bugged car? Hacked surveillance gear? Jean compromised? No, no, Jean isn't the type…_

“Get out of here.” Frank says. “You know I have nothing on you. Do that magic disappearing act you do and come haunt me when you have something I can use.” To Frank’s immense surprise, Murdock stands, lazily, managing to somehow be immensely frustrating purely through body language alone, and nods in his direction.  
“Hey, well. I know where I'm not wanted.” He smiles maddeningly and swaggers away into the crowd, hardly appearing as if he's even using that cane of his to see.

Frank sits until his coffee turns cold, throws his money down, and leaves in the opposite direction.

*

It is some time later, weeks, Frank thinks, he isn't counting, when he unlocks his office, turns on the light, and his office chair spins around to reveal yet another ugly red suit. It isn't the same one. Frank feels oddly uncomfortable that he even noticed that. This one, though, is a rather offensive shade of scarlet and has lapels that look sharp enough to cut glass. Murdock’s hair is as usual sort of neat and ruffled at the same time. Frank finds himself running his hand through his own, genuinely untidy greasy tangled mop, before scowling and dropping his hand when he remembers that Murdock can't see him.

And _why_ does he care what he looks like compared to this slimy lawyer anyway?

Frank just stands up straight and sucks it up. It isn't the first time he's had to go through with an unpleasant situation he got himself into.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdock remains one mystery Frank just can't get his head around, though he won't admit that he cares enough to want to.

It becomes a regular occurrence. Increasingly so. At first, Murdock appears to have just moved his meeting spot from an anonymous position outside in the street, to directly in his damn way.

It's always when Frank pops back to the office after dark, often when there are still one or two people in the office who don't appear to have seen him come in. Murdock always leaves by Frank’s office door, only when Frank checks the security cameras for each entrance out of a flare of curiosity, he never sees him leave, or anyone else for that matter.

But, ok, it's never _boring_.

Half the time Murdock is casually sitting in Frank’s chair, half the time pacing around with a kind of restless energy. Reluctantly, Frank begins to consider that he prefers the pacing. It tends to come hand in hand with Murdock being willing to bounce back and forth. He doesn't know _everything_ and what he _does_ have makes him a valuable sounding board.

That and… no he isn't _enjoyable_ to talk to. Frank is just _bored_ this is just a _distraction_.

“No I _don't_ know who else he's working with.” Murdock says one day when Frank presses him on a particular stubborn corner of an arms trafficking operation. He's laughing, amusement tinged with exasperation. “Can't you knock a few heads together? Isn't that what you do?” Murdock says, turns around to pace back in the other direction. Frank watches him with interest. He doesn't navigate the space like a sighted person, but he's abandoned the cane now, the room presumably familiar enough for him not to need it.  
“You're putting an awful lot of effort into making it seem like you know everything there is to know about every crime network in the city, forgive me if I can't keep up with what you _don't_ know.” Frank says, but it's more teasing than heated.  
“If I knew everything I wouldn't need _you_ would I?” Murdock flashes a grin at him which Frank just catches, having not been looking at him just at that moment.  
“And there I was thinking you just enjoyed my company.” Frank says.  
“I thought your opinion was more that I have staged this whole thing just so I can irritate you from up close.”  
“Is that a confession?” It's Frank’s turn to smile.  
“ _Speculation_.” Murdock says with a little shrug.

*

Bizarrely it's making working with Jean easier too.  
“You’ve loosened up. What's your secret? If it turns out you've started doing yoga I _am_ going to need photos.” She says. For what it's worth, she's loosened up too. She talks faster, less formally, lets herself ramble at him. Frank gets an unexpected pang when he realises that she was probably scared of him, before. At least a little. Most people are.  
“You want to see me in yoga pants?” Frank says innocently.  
“Yeah you never know when you might need blackmailing material.” She smirks. “My last partner went on a horrible health rampage and kept making an extra flask of green tea for me. He meant well.” She pulls a face, manages to make ‘meant well’ sound downright _damning_ .  
“I was gonna suggest we pull over for doughnuts, if it makes you more comfortable. Y’know, to reassure you there’s no threat of health food.”  
“Convince me with doughnuts that you haven't lost your mind.”  
“That's one way to get me to keep buying you doughnuts I guess.” Frank rolls his eyes as she pulls the car over.

*

It's Lisa’s birthday in three days. It comes as a shock, when he looks at the calendar and realises that the date is lurking in the immediate future. He swallows and stands abruptly up from his desk, seat pushing back. It seems to swim before his eyes.

How old is she this year? Nine. Shit. It's been almost a year. He doesn't know her. Does she still have Ted her dinosaur? He massages his eye sockets and moves to the door as if stung, grabs his coat on the way.

The whole slightly panicked shopping trip just serves to shake him up, dislodge the current not so awful grip on his life.

He slopes back to the office with a card that isn't _too_ pink (this was very important _last_ year) and an assortment of toys that he's pretty sure are creative ones. Lisa wanted to be an artist last time he saw her…

All he wants to do is sit in his office in the dark for at least an hour and pour through his damn paperwork until his mind stops scratching itself raw.

Inevitably, mentally reeling a bit and laden down with brightly coloured carrier bags, he's confronted by the by now all too familiar redhead reclining horribly in his office chair.  
“Hey babes, you miss me?” Murdock is doing that smile again, the one that really messes with Frank’s blood pressure.  
“It's been less than a week.”  
“You don't seem all that pleased to see me.” Murdock grins, head turned down in the direction of his cane, turning it in his hands.  
“Yeah maybe it's unclear for you, ‘cause you're blind, but I'm actually _fucking disgusted_ at the sight of you, just so you know.”

Frank shuts the door, can't bring himself to turn back to the room right away. When he does, Murdock tilts his head in his approximate direction.  
“You’re tired.” He says. Frank sighs, deposits the presents, and moves to sit in the chair opposite him, like he's being interviewed in his own office. A part of him cares. Most of him doesn't.  
“I'm always tired.” He's not sure quite why he says it. Something about Murdock’s expression is strangely… it's not _quite_ concern, more interest and confusion.  
“Work? Life?” Murdock says, sounding for all the world as if he is genuinely interested. Frank considers stopping there, he really does.  
“Ain't it all the same mess?” He sighs. Something changes in Murdock’s expression, a ripple of sourness.  
“I know all about that.” He says it quietly. Unnervingly so. As if someone might be listening.  
“You got anything for me or not?” Frank grumbles quickly. Doesn't like the depth in Murdock’s face. It looks _real_ and he suddenly feels as if he may not be able to tell the difference.

It's a strangely intimate situation this time. Murdock actually goes through his pin board, listening intently as Frank talks him through what they have, flipping through the photographs to describe each of the people in them so that Murdock can point out the more important parties in the groups. Leans into his words, a less guarded expression on his face as Frank speaks. His head tilts in concentration as he listens to Frank’s descriptions.

“So this man, he is the ringleader?” Frank asks.  
“Balding. Smokes a lot. I'm told he’s blond, yes?” Murdock says. Frank taps the least blurred shot of him, just to solidify it in his own mind. Murdock continues. “Used to work for Wilson Fisk before he…”  
“...Went to jail and _stopped operating._ ” Frank finishes for him with a scowl. Murdock appears unperturbed. He just grins that sudden and terribly sharp smile of his.  
“You got it.” Murdock settles again out of one of his customary manic flashes of weirdness and slides the photograph across the desk. He leans, shoulder almost touching Frank’s. He smells of something expensive. Frank automatically registers that he is rather more well-built than the tailored suit implies, from this close distance, when he realises where is mind is going. He blinks too many times, hurriedly focusses his attention on the photograph, relieved that Murdock can't see the heat flaring in his cheeks.

Frank leaves him sitting in his chair like he owns the place. He gathers the little brightly coloured nest of bags by the door and straightens up.  
“What's in the bags?” Murdock says. Frank stops.  
“Toys, mostly.” Considers stopping there, only it's like an itch under his skin that he hasn't been allowed to scratch and he finds himself speaking before he even makes the decision go on. “For my daughter. It's her birthday in a few days.”  
“How old, if you…  
“Nine.” Frank says. “Or. I mean. she’ll be ten.”  
“Hope she likes them.” Murdock sounds suddenly weirdly genuine again and that's just _uncomfortable_. Frank coughs awkwardly. Makes his goodbyes and leaves Murdock in the dark.

*

Murdock doesn't appear in Frank’s office for weeks.

At first it's a relief. Like the homework he didn't study for never had to be handed in after all, only…

His office is _empty._

He was right that he didn't need the leads, he does just fine without him which is heartening to begin with, but then he falls back into step with himself. Which… if he’s honest, got him into this whole mess in the first place.

It's a few weeks of returning to a dark office until the habit of half expecting Murdock to be waiting in some annoyingly dramatic position for him to switch the light on fades.

He doesn't _miss_ him, he tells himself sternly. Or, not any more than one would miss a stray cat. A neighbor’s cat who shits on the lawn. He's a presence that has gone for now. That's all.

Four weeks and one too many glasses of whiskey later and Frank uses a pay phone to call Murdock’s office. He googled the number. Feels like he's giving in to some weird compulsion. A young man answers and smoothly informs him that Mr Murdock is out of the country currently. He doesn't know when he will return. Frank thanks him as lightly as he can. Returns to his apartment feeling oddly set adrift.

Doesn't sleep all too well that night.

*

Frank has a pile of paperwork waiting for him. Used to be his least favourite thing to do, now it's just a good way to focus completely on something for a few hours. Escape. Before Maria left he used to lean on it too hard. Now he's _relying_ on it. The idea should worry him, he knows, but he just puts it out of his mind yet again, compartmentalises like he always does.

“Evening.” Frank doesn't freeze like he used to. His shoulders actually relax. He hates that it feels like relief.

Murdock is stood with his back to Frank, facing the windows. He's silhouetted in the light from the city below, catching the edges of his hair and shooting red and gold through the orange. His cane is hanging loosely from one hand. As Frank watches, he jiggles it in a little restless motion.

“Good trip?” Frank switches on the light, feels strangely tense, suddenly. Murdock is silent. Frank hears him draw breath at least twice to speak, but he just shifts slightly on his feet.

“Having real trouble with this counterfeiting case, if you got anything for me that'd be great. Not that I'm picky all of a sudden.” Frank says to fill the silence. Drops his keys on his desk and tries not to watch Murdock, still stood still, if a little twitchy, over by the window.

“I'll look into it.” His voice is sharp. Frank frowns. Has he taken down one of Murdock’s operations recently? He's not sure he’d know if he had.

“You uh, want a coffee? I was gonna make coffee.” A short silence and then.  
“Please.” Frank feels his face crease into a deeper frown. It's not anger after all, he just sounds strained. There's a strange pang in his chest and his throat feels a little tight.  
“Just, wait here, you can sit if you want I've been sitting in my car all day I'd rather stand anyway…” He trails off vaguely and leaves the room before the situation has time to get any more awkward.

Murdock is slumped in his desk chair when he gets back. Frank doesn’t think he’s ever witnessed a single involuntary bend in the man’s spine before.  
“Here.” He sets the coffee down on the coaster closest to him to the left of the computer.  
“Huh?” He mutters, lifting his head as if startled from a trance. “Oh. Thank you.” He reaches a foot or so in the wrong direction and has to search around little, not troubling to hide it from Frank. That does it.  
“What happened to you.” Frank says flatly, unable to ignore it any longer. Murdock takes a sip from coffee that is much too hot to drink.  
“I had a mission.” Murdock says, still strangely vague.  
“Where?” Frank presses, voice low, resting his palms on his desk. He leans a little, not into Murdock’s space but, for some reason he senses that it might help. Sure enough, Murdock leans a fraction towards him.  
“Japan. M’just jetlagged, that’s all.”

Murdock’s left eye looks bruised behind the glasses, Frank notices, now that the light is on and he’s really considering him. His hair is almost to the point of _messy_ , actually, genuine mess. His tie is loosened. His head has something of a droop to it.  
“Hey. Did your… daughter… or whoever, did she like her presents?” He says. Frank blinks.  
“That was a few months ago now.” Frank says slowly. “But I, I don’t know she, I left them at her mom’s house, so. Maybe.”  
“She keeping you from her? Your wife?”  
“Yeah well.” Frank says shortly. “I weren’t so… stable. You know. When I got back. Or since. Why we talkin’ about this?” He sighs. “You seem to know everything as it is.”  
“I didn’t look into any of this. To… you. Your family.”  
“They ain’t mine. Not now. I kinda forfeited that privilege.”

Frank turns away from Murdock, perches on the edge of the desk. They sit in silence for a moment, sipping coffee.  
“Frank.” Murdock says. “Can I call…”  
“Call me what you want, I don’t care.”  
“Alright _babes._ ” Murdock flashes a brief, slightly flickering version of his usual grin, but it’s gone almost at once.  
“You’ve called me that before.” Frank finds himself smiling, if only a little.  
“I’m flattered that you remember.” Murdock says. “Listen, I wouldn’t, I know I’m, notorious for being…”  
“...A corrupt soulless dickbag.” Frank supplies helpfully.  
“ _Nice_ , but I wouldn’t do that. Well I might. I _have_ , but, not to you.” He’s half himself again with just the ghost of that little smile haunting his lips. Frank is disgusted, as always, but also, it’s easier like this. He knows where he stands.

“You’re awful, you know.” He says without much heat. Murdock shrugs.  
“I don’t need to threaten you like that. I appreciate the work we do together, but. It's not important enough to threaten children.” Murdock says it so _casually_ that Frank turns to him, glaring, usual disgust level tipped suddenly into anger.  
“And threatening children is, what? Sometimes the thing to do? If it's _important enough?_ ” He forgot himself. Murdock is not his friend. He isn't anyone’s friend. He's barely _human_.

Murdock’s shoulders jolt with tension and he snaps to face Frank, furious expression contorting his usually glassy features. Frank has never seen Murdock lose composure like this.  
“What and you never had to harm an innocent in your life?” He spits, eyes blazing. Frank slaps a hand on the desk.  
“You said you didn't look into me--” He barks out before he can stop himself.  
“I never had to!” Murdock’s face is twisted up in an ugly snarl, too many teeth. “Tony Stark’s men, mercenaries, you-- you are _not_ better than me.” His voice is suddenly _dark_ , not raised but still somehow _violent_.

The words hang in the air, the office silent but for the sound of angry panting.

“Get out.” Frank growls, hands balled into fists. “Get out the same way you always get into my fucking _locked_ office. “Leave.”  
“No arguments from me Castle, f-” he stands, fast and angry and immediately staggers, hand reflexively curling around his chest.

Murdock tries to save face, hide it, but Frank’s already seen. He's standing ramrod straight again. Neatens the edge of his suit jacket and then sleeves, playing for time. His breath has a slight hitch to it. His head is turned a little away but he fails to hide that the sourness Frank noticed in his expression is _pain._

“What happened to you?” Frank doesn't know why he asks. Doesn't know why he troubles to keep his voice low and steady. Murdock just stands, carefully regulating his breathing. Frank considers insisting he leaves at once but he can't bring himself to do it, not now.  
“Ribs?” He says softly. A spasm of something flits across Murdock’s face, annoyance, maybe.  
“Yes.” He answers tersely, face still turned away.  
“Seen a doctor?” Frank asks. Murdock just snorts, almost derisively.  
“I don't know what that means.” Frank says. “But if it means you _don't do that_ you're crazier than I thought. And I'm generally considered a _dangerous maniac_ by anyone who knows anything about my history, so, y’know. Bare that in mind.” Murdock’s head tilts sharply and his mouth tightens, confused. “I'm lightening the tone, Murdock.” Frank smiles a bit, ducking his head in an automatic attempt to catch his gaze, which, obviously fails, but something in Murdock’s body language changes. He actually seems to relax a little.

“Why did you come here?” Frank asks, not unkindly.  
“I don't, I don't know…” Murdock moves as if to leave but his legs are clumsy. Frank reaches out to steady him.

When Frank’s hand makes contact with Murdock’s shoulder, he stiffens at once.  
“Sit back down.” Frank orders and to his surprise Murdock obeys, breath hissing out involuntarily as he does so.

  
“Can't.” He bites out, after a moment. “Can’t see anyone they’ll know.” Murdock’s voice is low.  
“Who?”  
“It was a test.”  
“I don't know what the _fuck_ you're talking about.” Frank sighs. “But you really should see someone. If your ribs are broken you could puncture a damn lung.”  
“Yeah. Well.” Murdock shrugs. “There are worse things.”

“Ok, who the _fuck_ .” Frank moves to lean against the desk opposite him, closer than before. “Who the fuck beats up a blind man--” but Murdock just snorts, laughs in strange, almost startled surprise.  
“No way. No way you haven't figured it out yet.”  
“What…” Frank says slowly. “You don't, look it's a pretty cheap trick and I wouldn't put it past you but you, you are pretty damn convincing with it.” He says, genuinely confused.  
“No I am, I am blind.” Murdock says, laughing for some reason, at Frank, he knows, but he's too confused to be offended. “But I, I have _superpowers_. Senses. They compensate.” He says ‘superpowers’ in the most absurdly delighted tone of voice, smug and eager. Almost childlike, entirely at odds with his usual performance.

“You have…” Frank feels as if he’s been picked up and set on his head, somehow.

“Oh come on.” Murdock shakes his hand dismissively, screws up his nose. “How is that so hard to believe? There’s... lizard people or whatever running around, a new superhero trending on twitter every day. You think I climb in through your window with _no_ idea where I'm going--”  
“You climb--”  
_Oh._ Well. Secret’s out.” Murdock purses his lips thoughtfully. “Don't tell people, babes. I want to keep up my mystique.”  
“You do not …” Frank splutters.  
“I'd show you.” Murdock giggles, a little weakly. “But, y’know, you're insisting I need medical attention, so.”  
“Why did you come here?” Frank says suddenly, shaking his head as if it will dislodge the weird spinning pace of the conversation.

Murdock goes quiet again. He isn’t laughing now. Frank has a horrible suspicion he knows the answer.

“I can look.” Frank says. He doesn’t want Murdock to have to say it. He knows.  
“What?” Murdock’s voice is too careful, too toneless.  
“Your ribs. I can… y’know. Can’t fix anything, just, check it’s not gonna get worse.” Murdock’s face twitches. He stays frozen for a moment.  
“It's no problem. C’mon.” Frank gestures and then realises he can't see it and stops.  
“I can tell when you do that.” Murdock says quietly. “You don't have to correct yourself.”  
“Oh.”  
“I don't need you to look, I shouldn't have… I should leave.” He doesn't move though. His hand tightens a little around his ribs.  
“Fine if not me then, hospital or something.”  
“I _can't_ go to the hospital--”  
“There are people who can help under the table, then--”  
“Not about _medical records_ Castle they--”  
“Enough with the _they_ ok, if you're not gonna tell me who _they_ are. One way or another you need to get looked at.” Frank snaps. “I can't just let you walk around with no idea how bad it is.”  
“I’m fine, I'm just tired and--”  
“Just show me your damn _ribs_ Murdock so you can get out of my office, I have paperwork to do.” Frank only raised his voice a fraction, just to talk over him, but Murdock bristles.

“Fine, _fine_ if you fucking _insist.”_ He says, childish annoyance, tugging at his tie. Frank moves across the room and locks his office door.

Murdock shrugs off his jacket, still trying to do it irritably but looking kind of stiff now. Frank doesn't notice until he's unbuttoning his shirt, that his knuckles at bruised and split. He doesn't mention it.

Frank kneels down in front of him and moves the now open shirt out of the way. There's a huge bruise, purple and red, spread across a good portion of his ribcage. Frank eases the shirt over his shoulder to keep it open. Murdock is _ripped_ actually. Lean muscle but still solid.

Frank carefully begins to feel along the worst of the bruising, finding his ribs below the muscle.  
“On your knees for me, Castle?” Murdock is smiling but it's strained, presumably in an effort to cover the pain that's draining the colour from his face. Frank grimaces but lets him have it.  
“Someone kicked the shit out of you pretty good.” Frank says, unnecessarily. Frank finds a break, and he jolts a little under his fingers, a tiny sound slipping out. Frank’s chest hurts.  
“How’s it look doc, tell me the truth, am I a gonner?” Murdock puts on a cartoon Brooklyn drawl to hide the strain in his voice and Frank shakes his head, feeling strangely compelled to smile.  
“You're impossible.” He tells him. “But you will be fine, probably. So long as nobody tries to give you any more _tests._ Might want to bind it up. And, y’know. Could get infected.”  
“Don't need to bind it.” He says. “But. Thanks. You confident I'm not gonna rip a big hole in a lung if I move too much, then?”  
“Well you maybe don't wanna go climbing through any windows.” Frank says, smiling uselessly.  
“I'll take that under consideration.”

He pulls the shirt closed again, turns away as he starts buttoning it, but Frank noticed the scars. It was hard not to. Most healed neatly, but there's a fair collection. At least as many as Frank. Nothing quite as ugly as a few of his more brutal run-ins, but enough to know he's seen shit. Murdock’s face is turned away again as he buttons up, like he didn't _want_ Frank to see, and it sends a weird pang through his chest.

“It's ok.” He says. Murdock just shakes his head stiffly. Suddenly silent again, mouth pressed shut. “I have worse.” He says, still not knowing why he wants to ease the discomfort on Murdock’s face. “Got a big burn here.” He gestures to his shoulder. “Can you tell what I'm…”  
“Yeah.”  
“IED. Fire melted through my vest. Got an upgrade for my trouble. Stark couldn't replace the _skin_ , though.”  
“You don't have to…”  
“You came here because you don't have anyone to go to.” Frank says. Murdock’s shoulders tense immediately. “It's ok, Murdock.” He says. “I don't have anyone either.” Murdock finishes buttoning his shirt and sits back in the chair. He jiggles one leg for a moment, fiddles with the hem of his shirt.  
“Matthew.” He says quietly. “Or, whatever. It's Matthew, if you want. Matt.”  
“Well if you're gonna keep calling me _babes_ … It’d be rude not to.”

Murdock leaves through the door, assuring Frank that he won't be seen. Frank doesn't bother with the paperwork. Leaves not long after Murdock does, and falls asleep with his head spinning with all of these new developments that he hasn't had time to process yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Crowfether for "Babes" it was damn inspired.


	3. Chapter 3

Murdock starts to bring coffee with him. He doesn't  _ give _ it, Frank just comes in one day to find a paper cup on his desk opposite Murdock who is, for the first time sitting not in Frank’s chair but in the other one. Frank raises an eyebrow.  
“This had better not have any hipster shit in it.”  
“You mean  _ milk  _ and  _ syrup?”  _ Murdock grins. “No.” He takes a sip from his own cup. “Mine has milk  _ and _ syrup. It's a pumpkin spice latte. Your’s is just an americano.”  
“Thanks. This your way of saying the coffee here sucks?”  
“Am I that obvious.”  
“You are when you  _ want _ to be.” He sits and drinks from the cup. Wrinkles up his nose. “Tastes expensive.”  
“Is.” Murdock shrugs. “Just buying your silence on the whole ‘I have superpowers’ bombshell. You seem awfully relaxed about that, by the way.”  
“Well  _ you _ haven't told me much about it. What is it, an echolocation thing?” He says. Murdock shrugs.  
“Sort of. More like I'm touching everything around me all at once.” His lips twist into a little smirk.  
“Is there any chance of you phrasing that in a less creepy way?” Frank says. Murdock’s smile just widens.

“I don't have anything for you today.” He says it like he's dropping a disclaimer.  
“You brought coffee.” Frank shrugs, smiles a bit. Murdock looks strangely bashful which disarms Frank completely.  
“Well.” Frank crosses to his briefcase and rummages about. “You can make yourself useful, if you want.” He drops a pile of papers in the middle of his desk and Murdock laughs, waves a hand in front of his eyes.  
“Pick one up.” Frank tells him. He reaches out, takes one and his face squirms unreadably.  
“You… you had them done in braille?”  
“Yes and I'm going to have to burn them when you're done. I just need you to check this guy’s statement. Check he's not missing anything too crucial that you know of.”

Frank clacks away at a report while Murdock reads, faster than looks natural, but, what does he know?  
“Do you sleep?” Frank asks when the thought occurs, after a while. Murdock laughs.  
“Do  _ you? _ This is  _ you _ r office.”  
“I mean. Is that a superpower thing or…” Frank asks. Murdock snorts.  
“Would solve a bunch of my problems if it were.” He says. “Nah. I just don't, much. Here.” He says, pausing his fingers. “The numbers don't add up, he's siphoned some money or stock off with someone he hasn't named.”  
“Great. I'll make a note.” Frank watches him. It's hard to get a gage on if he even looks tired, what with the dark red lenses covering his eye sockets.

*

"Do you have to wear  _ that? _ " Frank groans, pinches the bridge of his nose. Murdock giggles. Maybe if he didn't get such a reaction out Frank, he wouldn't do things like this.   
  
His t-shirt is bright red, loud as he ever dresses, with the words 'I'm not the King Pin' emblazoned on it in black capital letters.   
"Just to alleviate any confusion." He says.   
"Where did you-- you know what, never mind." Frank says. Murdock hasn't even brought a coffee with him to soften the blow.   
"You want to take a seat?" Frank says. Murdock looks ready to... Frank isn't sure but do  _ something _ .   
"I'm not staying." He says. "I have a case to work on."   
"Please don't tell me I don't want to know what scumbag you're getting off this time."   
“I'll save you the distress.” Murdock says, unconcerned.

  
"You seem to be feeling better, anyway." Frank says, because Murdock has that weird energy level he gets sometimes, flitting around the office like a butterfly in a box.   
"Much. I'll be climbing in and out of your window again any time now."   
"That's comforting. I assume you can't tell, so just so you know, I'm rolling my eyes."   
"Nope, you're right, eye-rolling is beyond me, but I can tell you skipped lunch and ate an entire packet of sugar doughnuts.  _ Again _ , Frank?"   
"Now you're just showing off." It should be mildly terrifying, actually. Somehow, it isn't.   
"Little bit. So, tomorrow night there's going to be a delivery." He says the address so quickly that Frank has to get him to repeat himself so he has time to find a pen.   
"And it's... what?"   
"Arms I think, judging by the clientele but, all I know is it's  _ a _ delivery. I can only hear so much." He shrugs. Frank wonders how  _ literally _ he means that. Again, there are some things he'd just rather not know.

*

Frank tells Jean that he got the tip from an anonymous call. She doesn't buy it, he knows, but she doesn't question it either. Jean is compromising too. Frank registers that with a slightly dizzy feeling. But, Jean still has plausible deniability. Frank can at least make sure she keeps it.   
  
"This one could be a dud." Jean says after a while. It's a trap, Frank's pretty sure. She's trying to get him to let slip who the contact is.  
"Let's give it a bit longer." He says evenly.   
  
Five minutes and Jean drags a hand over her eyes and stifles a yawn. Frank smiles. "I can stay. We're only collecting surveillance I doubt I'll need backup." He says.   
"We're not supposed to..."   
"Hey it could be a dud." Frank shrugs.   
"Not breaking protocol, Castle."   
"Fine then, nap."   
"We could  _ both _ just  _ go home _ because neither of us need the overtime pay right now."   
"We  _ could _ ." Frank says. "When we're  _ sure _ they're not going to show."   
"Fine." Jean glares at him tiredly. "Got an energy drink?"   
"You know how much sugar is in one of those?"   
"Castle I've watched you eat doughnuts for every meal."   
"I have never--"   
"Hey you might not remember, you were kinda in the zone that day, but I watched it happen."   
"Why didn't you say anything?" Frank says, aghast.   
"You ate them like a goddamn Tasmanian devil I wasn't about to get in the way of that." She grimaces at the memory.   
"Shit." Frank says flatly, staring off across the water, brow knitting as he tries to recall what case it was.   
"By all means keep it up, you make me feel like I have a healthy diet." Jean says.   
"I have a flask of coffee?" He offers, grimacing.   
"Fuck, thanks, anything if it'll keep me awake." She says, sagging back in her chair.   
  
There's movement in the next half hour. Jean actually spots it first, Frank jerking out of a half-doze.   
  
"Lorry." She murmurs.   
"I see it."   
  
They watch proceedings in silence, only, when the shipping container opens...   
  
"Fuck, it's  _ peopl _ e." Jean grabs the radio in one hand, gun in the other, starts calling in backup. Frank's hand twitches on his gun.   
"There's no time if they get them in the truck we'll lose them..."   
"We have to, Castle there's too many of them we need a whole squad..."   
  
And that's when things start to go sideways.   
  
Literally.   
  
Frank doesn't see the car coming. It hits them from the side. The car flips.   
  
Everything is a rush of sound and noise, metal screeching against metal, Frank thrown about in the car.   
  
Jean's seatbelt is fastened, Frank notes first, blinking blood out of his eyes to see her hanging upside down from it limply.   
  
_ Fuck fuck…  _ It hit her side of the car, only it doesn't look as if she's been hurt too badly, besides the blood dripping down the side of her face. Frank scrambles- his ankle protesting- intending to get her down...   
  
Something grabs his legs.   
  
Several somethings.   
  
Frank is dragged from the car before he can even get a hold on his handgun. Must have dropped it, shoulder scrapes along the ground. He rolls, suddenly, breaks some of the holds, kicks and dislodges the remaining hands. He lurches and rolls to his feet.   
  
In the time it takes him to stagger backward, Frank notes it's... ninjas...   
  
Huh.   
  
There's no urgency from the  _ ninjas _ , three of them, lazily pacing after Frank as he backs away...   
  
His eyes shift to the scene with the lorry and the women... to see the human traffickers surrounded by an army of- of more ninjas- being finished off with, with swords, ok, that's...   
  
The ninjas strike. He dodges, weaving and landing what punches he can. They have knives suddenly.   
  
Frank lands a kick to the nearest one enough to knock him away, but a blade slashes his upper arm. He yells and tucks in close, gets him on the nose and hears something crunch. He stumbles backwards and Frank has time to twist and kick him into his friend.   
  
That's about all he manages before the three of them move forward as one. He blocks a few hits but fuck, they are  _ fast _ and there's three of them. He's on the ground, dizzy, blows raining down faster than he can block them... hands are holding him still, yanking his head back by his hair, a knife is moving toward his throat and...   
  
Someone's shouting in Japanese. Someone whose voice makes him suddenly still and clear. The man with the knife to his throat turns towards the voice. Frank takes advantage of the distraction to find a gap in the assault. He tucks his head in and rolls. Doesn't know which way is up at first. Just breaks away, elbowing, yelling, struggling to his feet, letting the practiced violence take over.   
  
But much as he's willing, his body is failing now, keeps them off for a little while but he's soon on the ground again.    
  
He's dizzy and his vision is kind of fucked up but he doesn't have time to worry about that.   
  
A red blurred figure spins towards him and he flinches, raising his arms in a clumsy attempt at a block, but the shape moves past him, shielding him from a ninja he didn't even see coming. His eyes are kind of dark around the edges now. The floor tilts, rocks.   
  
He raises his head in time to see a red-clad figure facing off against the ninjas. There's more of them now. Frank's eyes are blurry but not so much that he can't make out the tousled shock of red hair.   
  
Murdock is bouncing in a stance Frank doesn't recognise, hissing at them in Japanese. One of them shouts back, gesticulates at Frank. Murdock darts towards the man. Frank's eyes keep slipping shut so he doesn't quite see what happens. One second Murdock is advancing on the shouting ninja, and the next he's thrown him to the ground. The others- Frank can't count them- go for him but Murdock lets out a feral-sounding war cry and... just fucking lets loose.   
  
Murdock produces knives from his crimson business suit, throwing and otherwise, does all sorts of fancy kicks and flips, using the wall to throw himself at them, vaulting over them, never moving his head to plot his movements because he doesn't use his eyes. Frank gets a dizzy sense of unreality watching him.   
  
He's soon left panting in the wreckage of a couple of black clad figures (dead or alive, Frank couldn't say) with the rest making a retreat. Murdock shifts on the spot, still in fighting stance, head moving around in strange sweeps and twitches.   
  
Frank comes back to himself. Realises he's on his knees, one arm seeping blood, body beginning to jangle with pain, in and out, fuzzy and indistinct.   
  
Then Murdock is there at his side, crouched in front of him with a hand fluttering hesitantly on his shoulder.   
"Whoa there, Frank, breathe, can you stand? We- they might come back- we need to move--" And he's as stuttery and unsure as he was that night when he came to Frank with broken ribs.   
"Jean--" Frank manages to splutter, forcing his complaining body upright. Murdock gives up hesitating to touch him and helps, grabs him and hauls him to his feet.   
"She's alive she'll wake up any minute I can hear her heartbeat."   
"F-fucking circus freak..." Frank grits out, staggering, head spinning as Matt yanks him along, good arm slung around his shoulders.   
"H-how d'you do that where did y-you learn to fight like that-- wait Jean--" Frank pulls in the direction of the car but Matt drags him away.   
"No, Frank, your backup is a minute or less out she'll be in safe hands in moments."   
"Can't just  _ leave her _ ." Frank wheezes, struggles against him.   
"They're trying to kill you she's safer if you come with me, please stay with me."   
"Why m'I safer... with you than..." Frank trails off, realising his mouth is starting to refuse to cooperate. Hopes Matt can figure it out.   
"I can call them off I need to get to my direct phone, call in a favour, they, listen I'll explain later just trust me."   
"Told me not to do that." Frank croaks out, laughing weakly.   
"Yeah well don't trust me not to be trustworthy sometimes."   
"You're such a fuckin'  _ lawyer _ ." Frank shakes his head wryly but doesn't resist as Matt half steers half carries him to a car. He bundles him in.   
"Y'gonna drive?" Frank's chuckle sounds dry and fractured in his own ears.   
"I have a driver, wiseass." Matt slides into the car beside him. "Drive."   
  
"Hey, hey Frank, don't pass out you have a concussion."   
"Oh. Great." Frank mumbles. Matt's hand is gripped onto his arm like a lifeline.   
"Listen, we're going to stop by my office and then I'm going to have to drop you off again so you can get to the hospital or else people are gonna get suspicious alright?" Matt's accent is all over the place when he's stressed, and he is stressed, Frank realises with some confusion. Kind of half old school Hell's Kitchen, half... Frank doesn't know, Japanese? "You're just gonna have to say you don't remember anything except getting beat up."   
"Fine, fine."   
  
They stop somewhere, near his office Frank assumes, he doesn't know, and then Matt's gone. Frank considers passing out. Doesn't though. Jiggles his leg to keep himself grounded, takes stock of what hurts the most- head, arm, ankle, in that order- and he's just considering speaking to this nameless driver of Matt's when he reappears.   
"Ok." He looks less worried but, resigned somehow, to something.    
"Find somewhere discreet not too far from the hospital." He tells the driver and then he's holding Frank's arm again.   
"I've done it they've agreed to-- look anyway I know you don't like it when I talk about "them" like that, so, it's done, they won't bother you again."   
"What... did you..." he wants to ask, wants to ask a lot of things.   
"Don't worry this is my fault anyway I'll deal with it."   
Frank droops and then shakes himself awake, knows he has to walk to the hospital.   
"That's it, not far now."   
  
Matt helps him out of the car when they stop, walks down the alleyway with him.   
"No cameras that side, that side there is. You can make it, I'll follow along where the cameras can't see me, ok? In case. I won't be far."   
"I can make it." Frank assures him. "Thanks." He tries his best to stand up straight, be reassuring. His other arm is occupied, automatically clasped against the wound on the other, but he wants to reach out to him. Matt's holding his wrist, still, and now he leans close. Hesitant, suddenly leaning closer and then tilting away again. Matt feels kind of warm and solid, even a little distance away. Frank leans and closes the space, forehead brushing Matt's.   
"Thanks." He says softly.   
"Don't." Matt mutters, and kisses him. It's brief and Matt is gentle but intense, Frank’s chest is full of something flaring and bright. Matt tastes of something sweet.   
  
Frank just stands there blinking in the alleyway as Matt releases him and backs away into the shadows.   
  
Startled into action, Frank moves, heart jumping, trying not to glance over his head to see if he can spot him.   
  
Manages to get to the front desk before he collapses

*

Frank is told that Jean is only a few doors down the corridor.   
  
He's also told that he has what may well be a serious head injury and several stitched up knife wounds on his arms and torso, and that he shouldn't move.   
  
"I've had head injuries before." He tells a nurse, much too dismissively, and she snaps at him that is exactly the point.   
  
And fine, he's kind of heavy and dizzy and it would be a whole lot easier to just stay here in this very soft bed and not move for a while.   
  
He doesn't  _ want _ to, though.   
  
Eventually, they realise it would be just easier to let him get his way so that he'll stop, as a senior nurse put it, "terrorising her minions". He meekly agrees to. She doesn't seem like the type to mess with. Not that he'd be messing with anyone if they'd just  _ let him see his partner _ , as he very politely tells her.   
"You're like a damn bull, Captain Castle, I'll give you that. Get your stubborn ass out of bed and I'll take you to see her."   
  
Jean actually doesn't look so bad. Her head is bandaged and her arm is in a sling but she doesn't seem out of it, her eyes are bright.   
"Hey, Jean." He smiles at her, relieved.   
"He should not be out of bed." The nurse says to her. "But he was bullying my staff, so..."   
"Wasn't bullying." Frank mutters. Jean is watching him. Her face isn't angry exactly but there's a certain quality to the frown creasing a line between her eyebrows that makes Frank fidget.   
"I'll wait outside." The nurse says before Frank can figure out how to ask it of her politely.   
  
"Where were you?" Jean says, voice quiet. Frank shifts on his feet. It would be easier if she sounded angry, as it is she just sounds hurt.   
"I don't know." He sighs. All I remember is getting kicked about by the guys who hit us before I could get to you and then I have a vague memory of getting to the hospital. Don't know how I got away." Jean's gaze is searching.   
"Castle, if there's anything I should know..."   
"There's nothing, Jean."   
"Was it a trap?" She says softly, eyes still locked in his. He wants to drop her gaze but he needs her to trust him. Though she really shouldn't.   
"Wait I saw..." he drops his head and looks around as if that will help him search out the memory. This he can tell her. He doesn't have to act the confusion over what exactly happened, parts of the night really are a blur. Just not the parts with Murdock.   
"I was fighting off some men but, but I think, we must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time because the guys we saw got taken out."   
"Taken out how?" Jean is sitting up straight now.   
"Not sure but they were dropping." Frank says. It's not like he can rely on his vague recollection that there were somehow swords involved.   
"Ok, that's good but listen to me Frank." She's urgent, suddenly. "If you are any any kind of trouble, if you're taking money or, or anything you can tell me, I can help."   
"I'm not taking money, Jean!" He splutters. "I wouldn't..."   
"Ok I didn't think it was likely Frank you're not the type but there's something, isn't there, something you're not telling me."   
"It's nothing like that." He says, suddenly very, very tired.   
"We'll talk about it later." She sighs. "You need to get back to bed."   
"I'm fine."   
"Oh please." She smiles, then. "You've gone all white and you're swaying. Your pain meds musta worn off."   
"This is why you're a good partner, Jean. Don't put up with my bullshit."   
"You can't compliment your way out of the fact I am going to be watching you now, Castle. Very closely."   
"And have I mentioned you're honest?" He says, gritting his teeth. "Really,  _ really _ fucking honest."   
"Bed."

*

  
When he first sees Murdock's outline in the window, he's a little out of it. Enough to sort of stare blankly, not really taking on board what he's seeing. He frowns, shakes off he normalcy.   
  
"How are you doing?" Matt says softly. Frank watches him. Wants him to come closer, but also...   
"I want to go home but they're keeping me another night." He shifts. "Should you be here?"   
"No." Matt says, voice a dark little whisper.   
"Listen, I think nearly having my throat cut entitles me to some answers." Frank's voice wavers a bit, and shit, he really must be out of it because he didn't anticipate the dizzy, sick feeling he gets when he says the words. The memory of that part, struggling as a knife descended towards his neck, sends a tightening wave through his chest and shoulders.   
"There are things you don't want to know and this is one of them." Murdock says, voice level but, careful somehow.   
"I need to know if people are trying to kill me!"   
"They  _ aren't _ they aren't now I made a deal with them, I called in a deal." And though his voice has just an edge of panic to it, though he's beginning to pace a little on the spot, something about his words sends a chill down Frank's spine.  _ Them _ ...   
  
Shit.   
  
"Come here." Frank says heavily. Murdock hesitates and then moves to him, sits on the edge of his bed. Frank sat up out of tension at some point, one hand supporting him and gripped on the blanket. Now that he's in the light, Frank can see that Murdock is pale and his face is tense, hair more ruffled than usual. He's wearing  _ jeans _ and a  _ hoodie _ which is, well Frank takes a moment. He looks strange like that, younger, somehow.   
  
But he can't think about that.   
  
"They're your... ninjas?" He says, squints at him. He's leaning towards Matt without meaning to. Matt takes his shoulder to keep him steady.   
"Sort of." He says. Frank lets out an automatic hiss of anger and Matt holds him a little more firmly.   
"I didn't send them after you Frank I had no idea--" Frank reflexively yanks his arm out of Murdock's grasp.   
"Don't." He says sharply. Murdock shrinks back as if stung.   
  
"Tell me. Who are  _ they _ ."   
"They..." Murdock swallows. "Listen. You already know I'm, still working for Fisk you know I'm..."   
"Yes, yes." Frank says through gritted teeth.   
"Well I have ties to, another organisation who, is Japan based and... my first loyalty is to them." He shifts, this whole thing is making him uncomfortable. "They sent me here to be their major contact in this city. Get as much as I could."   
"And you got all of it."   
"Yes." He whispers.   
"They tried to kill me, why?" Frank says bluntly. Murdock licks his lips, takes a deep breath.   
"Because. I've been back- in this city- ten years. Three of those years was studying. They think, now that I have this position I'm... getting overconfident. Taking advantage of my power to..." he takes another breath and speaks more quickly, as if getting it out takes some effort. "I was getting too close to you. My allegiance should be to them and only them."   
"You're telling me." Frank says, own voice feeling dull and distant. "They tried to kill me to... teach you another lesson."   
  
Murdock sits very still and doesn't speak for some time.   
"I'm sorry, Frank."   
"Jean could have died, my  _ partner _ , because I let myself get wrapped up in your bullshit." Frank's struggling not to raise his voice. Murdock jumps to his feet, paces away and spins around angrily to confront him.   
"You willingly got involved you knew it wasn't above board you can't--"   
"I didn't know who you were when I started taking your information--"    
"And it suited you fine but you just had to go digging, and you could have come after me but you didn't because you were fucking desperate for help and you know it."   
"I don't need your help--"   
"So you said before but you still took it, knowing full well what I was."   
"You know I couldn't have come after you without exposing what I'd already done."   
"And you didn't have to keep working with me either, but here we are."   
"Don't you make this my fault!" Frank is all but shouting. "Your people tried to kill me because--" and he stops short because he can't say it. He blinks, coughs and picks up again "--I trusted your information wouldn't lead me into a fucking trap!" Murdock turns away again, makes a small choking laugh.   
"Told you not to trust me." He says, voice oddly quiet and strangled.   
  
He stands in silence, back still to Frank, facing the window, which he crosses to and hauls open, after a minute. "Just. I am sorry." He says. Frank blinks and he's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matthew "Dramatic Exit" Murdock strikes again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for some artistic licence in the form of a Daredevil who obviously isn't Matt. Meanwhile Frank discovers someone in his apartment.

Gwen figures it must come easier to other superheroes, the whole _appearances_ thing. Mostly she just spouts utter rubbish in an attempt to feign confidence. She's not entirely sure it's convincing.  
“Shit.” She says, touching her freshly bruised eye gingerly. “How am I gonna explain this one to dad?”  
“Take up football.” Says a voice from the darkness, smooth and dark. Gwen pretends to yelp, Spidey sense having been blaring for the last two minutes, and puts her hand on her heart.  
“Jesus.” Gwen says. “You gotta creep up on people like that _every_ time.”  
“Language.” The woman says, laugh in her voice, and steps out of the shadows.

She's all in blood red, as always, horns glinting in the darkness.  
“Pinch me, the devil just told me off for blasphemy.”  
“And gave you sporting advice. Which you should take, by the way, or people will get suspicious.”  
“No way you play _football_ , what do _you_ do when this happens?” Gwen rolls her eyes.  
“Don't get punched in the face.” Daredevil says with a wry smile.  
“I saw you get punched in the face _twice_ last week.” Gwen pouts and folds her arms.  
“Makeup, obviously.” She tuts. “And I box.” She falls into a stance and throws a couple of quick demonstratory jabs at the air.  
“But you, don’t you need to _not_ advertise that you can beat up vast hordes of people?”  
“I'm fairly private about it. Mostly spar with trainers and a friend of mine. I _don't_ advertise that I can scale buildings and backflip over thugs, most people who can box just box.” Daredevil shrugs.

Gwen frowns, narrows her eyes with suspicion.  
“Are you trying to _mentor_ me?” Gwen says and Daredevil snorts.  
“Wouldn't _dream_ of it, darling.”  
“Cause it seems a lot like you're trying to mentor me. With the advice… the other day I swear you were trying to give me a _pep-talk._ ” Gwen pouts at her. Daredevil sighs and seats herself on the edge of the building.  
“Please, that would be _responsible.”_ Her mouth sours, Gwen can't tell if it's genuine or not.  
“You seem like a responsible person.”  
“I make myself too tired to conduct myself properly at my day job because I spent my nights punching criminals in the face.” She says. Her back is a little more slouched than usual, it's true. Gwen comes to sit beside her.  
“ _Helping_ people, you mean.” Gwen days. Daredevil laughs. “Now who is pep-talking who?” She glances at Gwen. “Besides. Mentoring you would be _vastly_ irresponsible, what with you being a child of indeterminable age putting yourself willingly in harm's way for the greater good.”  
“I'm, I'm not a child!”  
“Sure thing, Spider- _woman._ ” Daredevil’s smile is so lethal that Gwen doesn't doubt that it sends scores of fully grown men scurrying away from her.

“What's the deal with the commenting on my advice-giving.” Daredevil says, the air of a woman helplessly resigning herself to her fate. “Are you looking to talk about something?”

Gwen fidgets and lets it hang for a moment, because, well, that's not _consciously_ what she wanted but, actually…  
“Maybe a bit.” She says sheepishly.  
“Go for it.” Daredevil waves her hand. “Just, let it be known that I do not necessarily rate my own advice very highly.”  
“Wow, thanks.” Gwen says, but then, nervously adjusts her hood and settles herself more comfortably, legs dangling over the edge. “Everyone thinks I'm a murderer.” She starts.  
“Well that's not something you should concern yourself with, most people think I'm a genuine demon.” She flashes another smile.  
“But uh, it includes someone I care about a lot.”  
“You're trying to figure out if you're going to tell them. I'm guessing parent.” Daredevil says and Gwen grits her teeth and doesn't move, glad her mask covers her whole face, she can quite clearly see the loose smile on Daredevil’s face with mask only covering to top half, and Gwen’s would be giving away all kinds of things right now. She's probably giving a lot away _anyway._

“In my experience.” Daredevil begins after a while, still and serious in a way that Gwen could never be. “It's best to tell a couple of people. Just to keep you from going insane.”  
“How do you decide who you can trust?” Gwen says. Daredevil just shrugs.  
“For me it just happened so I'm afraid I can't help you there.”  
“So I should tell my dad.” Gwen says.  
“I don't know your dad.” Daredevil says. “But if it's likely he's going to figure it out, you should just tell him. Not doing so breeds more problems than it solves, ultimately.”  
“Right.” Gwen nods and gets to her feet. “See ya around!” She steps off the roof and shoots a web.  
“Hey remember, my advice? Not always the best, ok?”  
“I'll bear that in mind!” Gwen yells back, and then the wind whips her out of earshot.

***

"You're miserable again." Jean sighs, sprawled out in the spare chair in Frank’s office. "You broken up with someone or something? Talk to me. You look like someone killed your dog."  
"I'm fine."  
"You're an awful liar. Speaking of, you haven't had a mysterious 'anonymous tip' for going on, what, three weeks now?"  
"Jean, c'mon." Frank sighs, trying his best to keep typing and having to throw his hands up in annoyance when he finds his lost the thread.  
"Was it a woman?" She grimaces. "God, please tell me it wasn't a woman."  
"It wasn't a _woman_ Jean, fuck."  
"Man?"  
"Please, _please_ take your energy drink filled brain somewhere that is not the office in which I'm trying to write up my damn report."  
"Tell me Castle, if I start balling up these post-it notes and tossing them at the bin over there are you gonna act more like my dad, or less?"  
"Wanna try it?" He grunts.  
"I offend you with the man thing?" She pulls a face.  
"What? No! Stop talking."  
"Oh. I hit a nerve."  
"For God's sake DeWolff!"  
"Fine." She rolls her eyes and throws a screwed up note at the bin, misses and doesn't trouble to pick it up before moving to the door.  
"You can talk to me though." She tells him. "Ok?"  
"Yeah yeah sure." Frank waves a hand vaguely and she leaves him alone, finally.

*

  
Frank can't stand the long hours in the office alone, though, these days. Starts taking his paperwork home with him.  
  
DeWolff seems to get it, comes to hang around in his office as much as possible. Their big case is coming together, so she has every excuse. Takedown of the corrupt figures right at the top of the Roxxon Corporation. He tries to be nice when she does.  
  
The weeks stretch on and maybe he hits his stride again. Or, well. He'd lost his stride before this all went down, if he's honest.  
  
He has more words to consider, when he tries to sleep.  
_Whatever demons you brought back with you…_

_\--fucking desperate for help and you know it…_

  
A crash.  
  
Frank sits bolt upright and his hand flies to his firearm.  
An imagined vision of a ninja with a knife is the only thing that makes him hesitate, but it only holds him for a second, then he moves.  
Some kind of shit ninja if it makes that much noise...

His apartment is small (what does he need the space for?) and high up enough to avoid much of the light leaking in from the city.  
The breeze is shooting through his living room and kitchen, ruffling his hair.  
  
He moves into the room, slow and careful, gun ready, only to find the windows above his kitchen, the ones off at a 45 degree angle that make it like a greenhouse in there in the summer, has a broken panel.  
  
Frank moves closer, around the edge of the kitchen counter to reveal--  
His gun jumps up in his hand and he all but shoots, because it is it's a fucking _ninja_ in his apartment and--  
  
But what the fuck is a ninja doing falling through his window and struggling around on the ground to try to get to his feet?  
That's the only thought that makes him hesitate.  
  
That and... now that the figure has staggered upright, leaning in the counter, his silhouette is familiar.  
"No no no no this isn't right this isn't right..." He shakes his head, mumbling to himself, and, yeah.  
  
Frank lowers the weapon and opens his mouth to shout whatever obscenities come out first, only, then Matt falls over.  
  
"Shit." Frank mutters, does a little double-take before he goes over to him, unsure if he even should, and then gives in.  
  
Frank actually runs over and squats a little way away.  
"Murdock." He says, but his only response is to groan and drag himself out of the pile of broken glass he's sitting in. Frank moves around it to meet him and grabs his shoulder without even thinking. Murdock flinches but then tilts his head.  
"Huh." He says. "Frank?" He sounds unsure, confused.  
"Murdock you're in my apartment who did you think it was going to be?"  
"Oh, yeah." He's all hunched over around his abdomen, clutching at it with one hand, the other keeping him some sort of upright.  
"You're bleeding." Frank says, all anger forgotten at the sight of all that blood.  
"Oh. Yeah. Think so." Murdock sounds utterly lost. His voice is shaking, not unsteady or wavering or any of the subtle betrayals of emotion Frank has seen from him before. He sounds completely torn up. It’s jarring.  
"Why are you a ninja?" Frank says despairingly, grabs his other shoulder. Matt shrugs.

"Look I'm moving you to the couch ok?"  
"There's... glass..."  
"It's fine, you can't stay here, c'mon."  
  
Matt's legs are all weak and unresponsive, so Frank mostly carries him, trying to persuade him to take some of his weight as they move because he has no idea what and where his injuries are beside the one visibly leaking blood through his fingers.  
Still, Frank mostly propels and settles him on the couch without much help.

"Wait." Frank orders, crosses to the light and then moves back to assess the damage.  
  
It doesn't look good. There's a lot of blood soaked into his shirt, he's all in black so it's difficult to tell how much.  
"Can I take the mask off?" Frank asks, knelt by the side of the couch. Murdock twitches, frozen for a moment, but he does nod.  
  
Murdock's hair is a little longer than the last time he saw him, and it's completely dishevelled, falling in his eyes.  
  
His eyes...  
  
Frank hates that he's transfixed. Realises with a terrible sensation of falling that he's never seen them. Never spoken to Matt without red lenses hiding much of them from him.  
  
They're clouded over and blue, clearly sightless but, god, Frank is just utterly floored by how unguarded they are. He looks younger, terribly human and just plain afraid which sends a horrible twisting sensation through Frank's chest.  
  
Sure, it might be how disorientated he is right now. His head is twitching around a little, presumably as he tries to get a fix on the new space. His free hand, still gloved, is clenched on the sofa cushions, his legs are sprawled out where Frank tried to arrange him comfortably but he bunched up out of reflex.  
  
"I'm not gonna hurt you." Frank says. "I did almost shoot you, though, why the fuck are you in my house dressed like that? You remember my last run-in with... Matt?" His eyelids flutter a little and droop shut but he blinks them open again when Frank says his name. Frank finds he's tightened his hold on his shoulder.  
"S-sorry I didn't mean... I fell, the window broke..."  
"Nevermind, look, you're bleeding a lot, can I stitch you up?"  
"You can... do that..?"  
"Well yeah." Frank says. "Perks of having been a marine slash shady mercenary, can you stay awake while I find my kit, I have no idea how to check you for a concussion when your eyes don't work and you have a pretty nasty lump on the side of your head."  
"Ok..." Matt still sounds desperately vague. Frank swallows the little flare of panic in his chest and retrieves the supplies as quickly as he can.  
  
"Put this on your head." He hands him an ice pack. Matt takes a second but with a little direction from Frank he convinces him to hold it against the lump.  
  
Frank helps him ease his shirt up gingerly. It's made of something soft but strangely tough to the touch, it takes a bit of effort to peel it back. Not least because Matt is twitching and shaking.  
  
The wound is jagged and thankfully not so deep as Frank feared.  
"No chance you're going to go to a hospital if I tell you it will be a hundred times safer?"  
"Huh?"  
"Hospital." Frank says.  
"No-n-no-" Matt jerks and turns his head from one side to the other. "D-don't make me--"  
"Hey hey shh." Frank says quickly, startled by the whimper in Matt's voice. "I'm not gonna make you do anything ok, breathe you need to calm down or you'll lose more blood." He keeps his voice as hard as he can but it's a struggle, because Matt is missing every bit of his usual composure. It's unexpectedly chilling.  
  
"Here, you have to take these." Frank holds out water and a couple of pills.  
"I'm not I don't, I'm n-not--"  
"Hey, _hey_ I think you're in shock and the pain is not helping you calm down so can you just take them?"  
"I'm not w-weak I'm n-not--" he's half sobbing at this point, so quiet Frank can barely hear him. Frank feels as if the situation is beginning to spiral out of control, because all he wants to do is help, ease the pain and horror in his exposed eyes. He throws away any doubt because it's not useful right now.  
"Listen, you're not weak you got this far, your body is hurt and it's reacting, alright, it's not your fault."  
"Frank." Matt whispers, blinking too many times. "I... it hurts I'm... it..."  
"Yeah I know but it's not deep, I'll stitch you up but you have to take the pills so you can stay still for me ok?"  
"N-not that not that..." he sobs, knuckles pressed against his sternum. "I did it I... I didn't want to..." he's beginning  to breathe too fast again and the horror in his eyes is palpable, staring and wide a little to the right of Frank's gaze.  
"Hey, hey." He says, grabbing his hand on impulse. Matt is startled at first but then clings on. His hand is a little sweaty but warm and strong for all that it's trembling.  
"Listen to me." Frank says. "Focus on anything else, anything, just until I've stopped the bleeding. Then we can talk about whatever you want." Matt drops his head as if to avoid Frank's face.  
"S'bad, s'really bad Frank." He says, very quietly.  
"Doesn't matter right now, breathe, just breathe."  
  
Frank helps with the water once he's persuaded him to take the pills, Matt is still shaking pretty badly. The _why_ of it is too much to think about right now.  
  
Frank starts to bark orders to hold still which works better than anything so far. Matt focussing and beginning to breathe in some kind of measured controlled pattern makes up for the fear in his face whenever Frank gives him an instruction that way. Whatever works, for now, will have to do.  
  
Matt is only barely conscious by the time he’s taping down the gauze.  
Frank swallows, looks at him in silence for a while. Then he starts checking him for other injuries.  
  
There isn't much else wrong with him besides a few minor cuts and some significant bruising. Nothing seems to be broken, anyway. Frank adjusts the ice pack on his head and goes to fetch him a shirt.

It's easy to help him sit up, seems distant and numb, just sits and lets Frank get the torn black top over his head, peel off the gloves and help him into his clean shirt. The shirt drowns him a bit, makes him look much too small. Frank sighs. He should just resign himself to it at this point.  
  
"I'm gonna move you to the bed, ok?"  
"Y'takin' me to bed?" Matt mumbles, a fractured and ragged excuse for a smile twitching the corners of his mouth.  
"That's the sorta talk got us into this mess." Frank says, not unkindly. Matt closes his eyes and lets his head fall forward a little.

“Yeah well.” He says quietly. “I don't regret anything.” Frank doesn't know what to say.  
  
"You seem more focussed anyway." Frank says when he can, just to break the silence.  
"You're steady." Matt murmurs.  
"You are the only person on this planet who thinks I'm steady." Frank snorts out, disbelieving.

"You are with me." Matt's much more relaxed, probably a side effect of the pain killers.  
"You're high." Frank says. "Can you move?"  
"Sure." He says, and doesn't.  
  
Frank manages to get him installed in bed with a little coaxing.  
  
"Can you stay here?" Matt sounds flung apart somehow. "I'm... please." His voice has a croak to it. Frank can't just leave him like this, he's too hunched over and unsure. It hurts to see it. He drops his head and nods.  
  
Frank settles at the other side of the bed, fully clothed and just lying on his back listening to Murdock's breathing.  
  
"Frank." He says softly. His first name still feels strange to hear coming from Matt's mouth, even now. "Thank you. For everything. I shouldn't have brought this to you, it was..."  
"Hey. It's ok. You can rest." Frank says. But Murdock is still too pale, face drawn with pain. His mouth is a thin line.  
"Listen." He says. "Listen, you're, you're important to me."  
"Yeah." Frank says gently. He rolls onto his side to face him.  
"I..." Matt extends a hand towards him, unsure and hesitant and then withdraws it.  
  
Frank, because he's crossed so many boundaries already that it hardly matters, reaches out to cup his face.  
"Oh." Matt whispers, cheek moving against his hand.  
  
Frank assumes he's going to tense up and is prepared to take his hand away again if he does, but Matt lets out tiny little sigh and shuts his eyes, rolling his head a little into his touch. Frank strokes upwards, threads his hand into his hair, shiny and red and kind of tangled at the moment.  
Frank runs his thumb carefully against his skin, rough with stubble.  
"You're important to me, too." Frank tells him softly. "Ok? You've crept up on me, I don't know how to get by without you around to mess with me."  
"'m I messing with you now?" Matt smiles with a pained, exhausted attempt at mischief.  
"For God's sake Murdock, sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwen! Finally, seeing as how this is your universe.  
> A Daredevil? In earth 65??? Who could that be then? (tags kinda give it away)
> 
> Tiiiny reference to how Frank kinda rocks a chubby John Wick aesthetic in Earth #65


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elektra finds she's closer to Gwen's problems than she thinks.

"You're Gwen Stacy then." A voice says, and ok, this time Gwen genuinely jumps out of her skin. She gets her sometimes. Damn inconsistent spidey-sense. Daredevil can be sneaky enough  _ without _ springing the personal information.   
"I had hoped you wouldn't have figured it out." Gwen sighs. Daredevil steps out of the shadows.   
"You told me you were going to tell your dad and it's on the news that he botched your arrest, I'm surprised you thought I might miss the obvious." She smirks, leaning her shoulder against the alleyway wall. Gwen glares but without much heat.   
"I said I hoped not that I didn't think you would." Gwen rolls her eyes.   
"Hey look, if it makes you feel better, my name is Elektra Natchios, it's not a common name, you can look me up."   
"Want me to add you on Facebook or what." Gwen says, still scowling irritably.   
"Just thought you'd feel more comfortable if the knowledge went both ways. You can call me Ellie if you want."   
"Nothing about this is comfortable." Gwen snaps.   
"Hey, simmer down buttercup, I'm trying to help." She grimaces. "Us vigilante women have to stick together."   
  
Gwen slides down the wall and sits cross legged, fiddles with her hood, absently.   
"Sorry I'm just... they've put a new guy on my case and he's probably going to eat me alive."   
"What's his name?"   
"Captain Castle, I've never met him." Gwen looks up in time to see 'Ellie' pull a face.   
"Oh. I've had the odd encounter."   
"Not good?" Gwen winces. Ellie moves to sit beside her, a damn sight more elegantly than Gwen's disgruntled flop had been.   
"Well he is considered a specialist in organised crime so I mean if it makes you feel any better, you're not in his usual area of expertise..."   
"But..." Gwen prompts, seeing the faint grimace on Ellie's face and dreading.   
"... He's famously obsessive." She finishes.   
"How obsessive." Gwen lets her head fall back to lean against the wall.   
"Like a dog with a bone."   
"Oh, good."   
"I can keep an eye on him for you." She says. "See if I can reason with him. He has been known to listen to reason on the odd occasion I've had enough proof."   
"There is  _ no _ proof." Gwen groans, hugging her knees and letting her forehead rest on them.   
"You never know. He may have mellowed since the last time."   
"How long since you last ran into him?" Gwen asks and Ellie grimaces.   
"...Four months..."   
"Argh!" Gwen throws her hands in the air. "How do you deal with the drama!"   
"My drama is rather less public." Ellie admits shaking her head.

Daredevil pushes away from the wall and stands.   
"I'll scope him out for you, see what he's up to." She says. "Don't sweat it. You're doing good out there."   
"That sounds like pep-talking!" Gwen groans, voice muffled by her knees. Ellie laughs, twirlsher grapple and presses the little button, gracefully rising into the air as if hanging on takes no effort whatsoever.   
"Suck it up, kid!" Ellie barks in a cartoonishly gruff voice, giving Gwen a cheerful little wave, and then she's gone.

***

Ellie often boasts that she knows the exact location of every flagpole in the city capable of holding her entire body weight, or she would if she had many friends to boast  _ to. _ Still, it’s an exaggeration. It’s closer to the truth that she has  _ favourite _ flagpoles in  _ her _ area of the city. Not one of them is on the way to Frank Castle’s apartment. It’s a case of swinging off fire escapes (dangerous, don’t want the grapple to get tangled) and running over rooftops, always sort of a risk in a populated area, though. Too many sightings of her free running shot on a phone from teenagers bedroom window makes for too many youtube videos of her just doing plain old gymnastics to get about. Rather spoils the mystique of her just mysteriously  _ appearing _ for people.

So she goes into what Foggy once described (in rather withering tones) as “Full Ninja Mode” and flits to his apartment less directly, following the splashes of darkest shadow.

Crouched still on the fire escape, she listens.

Someone is sleeping, only considerably more quietly than  _ Frank _ usually does. Maybe he’s sorted out his damn snoring problem, unlike  _ some _ people. Foggy would judge her so hard for knowing what everyone sounds like  _ sleeping _ . Not that anyone could ever miss that  _ Foggy _ is sleeping, he snores like a truck doing an emergency stop.

But then, most people don’t crouch on people’s fire escapes, snooping on them, so, really it’s her own fault.

Unlocking the window takes all of ten seconds. She looks into the tiny bedroom and…  
“Huh?” The man in the bed jolts awake. Elektra stares.

"...Matthew what are you doing in Frank Castle's apartment?"   
"Well, I  _ was _ sleeping, what are  _ you _ doing here?" He demands, a little sluggishly, shoving himself upright and visibly wincing which is just  _ jarring _ .  
“I… wanted to talk to Frank?”  
“In his  _ bedroom?”  
_ “Matthew, you’re in his _ bed. _ ” She says, and sits beside him, not caring much for personal space, old habits and all.

Matthew chews his lip. She always preferred him half asleep, navigating his layers of composure is exhausting.  
“He's not here.” He says eventually.  
“Well I know that  _ now _ . I could hear someone sleeping. Figured I'd check. We don't all have super senses.” She says. And he  _ can't  _ judge her for the eavesdropping because she learned all that crouching on fire escapes stuff from  _ him _ .

Matthew shifts himself into a more comfortable position, moving very carefully, she notices.  
“What happened to you? You haven't called on me for a frienemy sparring session for _months_.”  
“Did you just say ‘frenemy’.” He grins mischievously.  
“I have heard you say _frienemy_ many times.” She rolls her eyes. “I'm rolling my eyes.”  
“I know. You do a voice.” He says, smiling with an undisguised sense of _fondness_. Abnormal.  
“What's up with you? When did you start fucking Castle? God, you're not all banged up from _fucking Castle_ are you Matthew because that's not…”  
“No! No nothing like that Frank’s not the type.” He says quickly, cringing a bit. “Besides we’ve barely even _kissed_.” Elektra narrows her eyes.  
“I reiterate.” She says flatly. “What are you doing in Frank Castle’s apartment?”

Matthew fidgets, looks solemn, more so than she's ever seen before.  
“It wasn't my intention. The hand became… displeased with my attachment.”  
“Matthew.” She folds up one leg so that she can turn to face him. “You can't let them do this to you. Not again.”  
“Elektra, it's not that simple…”  
“You're in his _bed_ you can't believe that, unless you are just that _flippant_ about his safety…”  
“Elektra, you don't know what I, what they, they tried to _kill_ him, I had to stop them, promise them to, I had to call in a favour. Do a job for them.” He's mixing up his words, mangling them like broken clockwork.  
“They're having you kill for them again?” She says, voice stern but, well, she's not so much mad at him, really. This is well trodden ground. She knows what he is.  
  
“I did, yes. It's been. It's been a while.” His voice has gone mostly toneless. His face has taken on that numb, deliberately blank expression that he only turns to if he's making an effort to detach himself.  
“Matthew. We’ve talked about this.”  
“Elektra.” He glares suddenly, voice snapping out. It's all front though. She knows him too well to fall for it. “Don't patronise me, not right now. I know. I _know._ I _killed people_ to save his life I know it’s.. _.”_ His blank mask of an expression cracks just a little. “I didn't, I didn't _want_ to bring this down on him, I got sloppy, hurt, came here to, j-just hear him, I was so… I'd lost more blood than I'd realised, passed out, fell through the window. He, he helped me.”  
“Matthew.” She says softly. “Do you love him?”  
“Yes.” He says at once.  
“More than…”  
“Not more.” He says before she can say it. “I'm, I’m, I'm different now I'm not so…” His face twitches as he scrambles to find the words.  
“You don't have to explain yourself to me, I'm not a jury.” She stands. “Is he at the office?”  
“I've been, mostly asleep. Think so.”  
“Alright well. You need to leave them or him, or it's going to end in tears.”  
“They're my family.” He says, a little defensively. “These people raised me. You know that.” Elektra just shakes her head.  
“When you're recovered, find me. You're frustrating. I wouldn't mind trying to punch you in the face a few times when you're up to it.”  
“Flattering.” He says vaguely.  
“Goodbye Matthew.” She sighs.

*

Castle is exactly where Elektra expects, though considerably more asleep. She stands beside the open window, a little awkwardly, watching him. His head slumped on the table, one arm sort of folded over his head from where it had presumably been propping it up, earlier. He's snoring almost cartoonishly.   
  
Castle's hair and beard are longer than they were the last time she saw him. He's surrounded by empty coffee cups. A screensaver NYPD logo bounces around his monitor.   
  
The light from the street outside crosses the office in stark lines, and between that, Castle's greasy mop of hair, and all the layers of papers and case files, Castle looks like a stereotype.   
  
She hasn't been watching him for long, when he jerks awake. Swings his head about, hair flapping around his face, which he drags a hand across to wake himself.   
"Murdock?" He mumbles, squinting at her, eyes dark and still of sleep.   
"Hello, Frank..." She says slowly. He jumps out of his chair and circles around, always facing her, to stand opposite, a safe distance away.   
"Fuckin'  _ Daredevil _ , get outta my office." He grunts at her, forcibly blinking himself awake.   
"Relax, I'm only here to talk." She says, keeping her voice that practiced volume that gives as little away as possible.   
"Makes a change."   
"Hey, that last incident was a simple misunderstanding."   
"Misunderstanding huh." He says, voice that low, dangerous tone she knows means trouble. "You beat my informant unconscious."   
"Your informant was setting you up." She says.   
"So you say." He says, mouth set stubbornly. "I've survived more dangerous set-ups."   
"Don't fear much, do you Captain Castle."   
"Makes it harder to get what you want outta someone, huh?" He says smugly and she rolls her eyes, not that he can tell through the mask.   
  
"I'm here about the Spider-Woman."   
"If this isn't to give me an identity or location you're wasting my time." Castle snaps.   
"She's a friend of mine." Elektra continues smoothly.   
"Thought she might be."   
"Contrary to popular belief we masked types don't have a universal club-house." She says. "But as you can imagine we do run into each other on occasion."   
"You do both seem prone to getting in my damn way."   
"The feeling is mutual I assure you."   
"Are you asking me to stay away from criminals now? Aren't you always lecturing me on how useful you are to the greater good? How we're on the same side? I thought the point of you was that you get to take it out on criminals faces."   
"Sounds a lot like projecting when you don't know a thing about me." Elektra says.   
"Oh yeah? And the fact this woman is a murderer..."   
"She didn't murder anyone." Elektra says calmly.   
"Oh yeah? She tell you that, huh?" He growls. "We can't all be so trusting." He stands up straighter, almost haughty. "I need proof to do  _ my _ job."   
"You seem pretty convinced of her guilt without proof."   
"And if she's guilty she's just what, an exception?"   
"You want to talk about exceptions?" Elektra snaps.   
  
Castle freezes.   
  
Oops.   
  
"You want to tread very carefully." Castle says, voice lower and more dangerous than ever.   
"More carefully than usual would be difficult." Elektra lets her voice get pissed-off-nun cold. "I know who you are, Frank Castle. And who you were. Don't get up onto a high horse from which you are doomed to fall." She sneers, paces slowly, head dropped into a glare.   
“Are you threatening me.” He says, following her circle in the opposite direction. There’s something terribly ready, dangerous and habitual about his posture now. This has not gone as planned.

“Threat? No.” She laughs darkly. “Just take this seriously. You are wrong about Spider-woman, look into it. That’s all I’m here to say.” She’s said  _ too much  _ actually, and now his back is up and she may have made things  __ worse.  
“You’ve hardly given me a good case for giving you the benefit of the doubt.”  
“Castle, tell me, have you  __ ever given anyone the benefit of the doubt?”  
“No-one ever gave me a reason to.” He snaps. She’s already positioned at the window ready to leave by the time he says “Get out.”.

She pauses, the expression on Matthew’s face when he talked about him, when he said that he  _ loved _ this man, calling itself up in her mind just in time to catch her and to make her consider him a little differently. He’s stood, trying his best to appear his usual stoic self, but he’s flaking at the edges and exhausted, weighed down by his usual self-imposed obsessive workload and, she suspects, a sleepless night watching over her disaster of an old college friend. Castle in her mind has always been somewhat of a hard-edged obstacle, a headstrong and volatile and immovable. Now she looks at him and sees maybe a little of what Matthew finds in him. A fallible human man beneath the defenses. As secretly hurting, secretly lonely, as he is himself.

“Your heart could get you into trouble, here.” She tells him, ready to drop from the window and swing away, but needing to give him something. They both have Matthew in common, a friendship against all odds. An unwise one perhaps, but, those are the only sorts of friends permitted to him and she can’t bring herself to hate him, so here she is. Castle is flustered, trying to hide it.

“You gonna tell me to stay away from him? Like you’re my buddy, just giving me some friendly advice?” He growls. Defensive. Eesh. All the more reason to say this to him.  
“It may sound strange but I hold no ill will against the man. If you can’t stay away from him, if you care for him too much, it is better to keep him at arm’s length.”  
“I’ve seen the dangers first hand. I know the risks.”  
“Your temper is not going to help you, here, Castle. Things are not as simple as you would like them to be.”  
“What are you a fortune cookie?” Castle snaps. Elektra takes that as her cue to leave.

***

Matt wakes fuzzy. Half of him thinks that the painkillers are overrated, seeing as how they knock out most of his ability to understand the world around him, but honestly right now, he welcomes the fog in his mind. If he leaves, goes back to his life- and he’s on borrowed time here as it is- that will be it. He doubts that, in the aftermath of this, they will resent a goodbye. Anything further would be considered a betrayal.

They tried to teach him before, but he never learned. Always such a disappointment.

Guilt gnaws at him somewhere low in his belly, even as he rolls himself into the comforter to envelop himself in the smell Frank Castle’s body has left on the sheets. Everything they taught him, every piece of himself that he owes to them, his very life, he can feel the weight of it all and how he spits on it with all these things they always taught him he did not need. A cold ache every time he finds himself trying to focus on the street below to hear Frank return home again, whenever the blood and screaming creeps around the edges of his mind.

They built him, made him something hard and strong and useful from the weak little child they took in. Something honed to wield power. Trusted him with that power.  


He’s broken the rules. Relied on someone else. He has too many responsibilities to  _ rely _ on anyone, not someone who can rob him of his strength like this, someone who can eat through this structure that they gifted him with, so that he could be a part of something larger than himself.

He jolts awake from a nap, thinking he hears movement, that’s it’s Frank, or perhaps Elektra again. There’s nothing there by the time he shakes his head clear enough to get his senses to the front door.

Or perhaps they’re watching him now.

*

Frank arrives back to his apartment when Matt is barely awake enough to hear him coming. Certainly not himself enough to feel the rage rolling off him in waves until he enters the room. He struggles upright, enough to face him, at least.

He knows.

“Was this you?” He says, voice that rough, cold tone that he hasn’t heard Frank use, not genuinely, for some time. He’s waving a newspaper.  
“I can’t… I can’t see that.” He tells him, half wishing he’d taken the coward’s way out and left before he got the news, knowing he owes him better than that.  
“You know what it is, though, I can see it on your face.” Matt feels pinned down, exposed under Frank’s eyeballs, knowing he’s looking at him, no glasses to hide behind. He always showed too much on his face, they always said so. “Massacre.” Frank continues. “CEO and a whole slew of others from the Roxxon corporation, pretty much everyone we had eyes on. You knew I was involved with this operation you  _ knew _ we’d been compiling evidence in the dark for  _ months,  _ we nearly had them, we were so… so close and you… you…”

“They were going to kill you.” Matt says, trying to snap, but it just comes out desperate. His time is up, there’s no use fighting it now, he knows, but he can’t help himself. Frank’s breath huffs out, hurt and horrified.

“This? This is what paid for my life so I could be here to, to patch you up and let you sleep in my bed? Weeks of police hours wasted, mass, mass  _ murder _ …” His voice cracks. Matt can hear the words he’s not saying, the words that are choking his voice, making his breaths shudder, making him turn away his head so he doesn’t have to look at him.

_ Monster. Monster. _

“This is what I am, Frank. You knew that.”  
“I did know, I fucking knew and I still got taken in by… You kill people, all the time, maybe not directly, but you do and I knew that I shouldn’t have fallen for the, for the sad little murderer act, you made a fucking  _ fool _ out of me.” Frank’s voice is shaking with rage, humiliation, bitter and growling. He’s upright now, defensive and military, face tight.  
“Didn't I tell you it was bad?” Matt snaps, glares, approximately in Frank’s direction.  
“You remember that, huh? Because you seemed pretty fucking out of it.” Frank spits, his face is hot enough for Matt to feel it, his hands are twitching.  
“I was, I was but I remember  _ you _ helping me I remember--”  
“All that traumatised shit, did you think if you acted like, if you acted like this  _ hurts _ you, did you think I’d be ok with it when I found out? A few crocodile tears and I’m still yours?”  
“It wasn’t an act, Frank. I’d never…” He wants to return anger back at him but his lungs tighten with the  _ idea _ of it. The idea of using  _ weakness _ as some sort of ploy. It's been his shame since he was a child.

Matt fights to get his voice back and miraculously Frank is letting him speak. “I would never manipulate you like that Frank I didn’t even want you to  _ see it  _ don’t you get that? I didn’t intend to come back I knew you were compromising and I knew that you were enough of a distraction for me attract the wrong kind of attention from my people.”  
“How noble.” Frank sneers.  
  
Frank just stands stiffly for several seconds, struggling with himself, opening his mouth to speak and closing it again.  
“You told me not to trust you.”

The words hang in the air. Matt’s own heartbeat drowns out Frank’s, world spinning out around him.

His throats is dry when he speaks again.  
“I was planning on leaving as soon as I could and, now is as good a time as… thank you. I am grateful for what you did for me.” Can feel himself closing off as he gets up from the bed, stands up straight. Locks his emotions away. They've done enough.  
“What was I gonna do just, let you bleed to death in my kitchen?” Frank says, voice dull and hollow. The rage has dropped right out of him.  
  
Matt wants to kiss him goodbye, as he passes him on the way to the door. Would if Frank would let him, that is if he didn’t know he would break the moment their lips touched.

Frank is frozen and turned away as Matt walks out of the front door, as if he couldn’t read his face if he tried hard enough. He doesn’t. Deliberately focuses his attention on the elevator clunking its way upward, fixates on the confusing echoes of the elevator shaft and leaves Frank’s expression a mystery. He doesn’t want to know what his face is doing.

*

At home, Matt buries himself in case files, focuses on the tips of his fingers and the information pressed into the page. Doesn’t feel. He has a meeting tomorrow, several others that are long overdue. Back to work.

He works for hours, until he staggers into bed, knowing that sleep is unavoidable.

He wakes to a call.  
“Hello?” He croaks a little, but his voice is otherwise emotionless.  
“Matthew. We have received confirmation that the mission was successful. We have delivered to you a brief.” Matt hears the envelope drop through his front door. His heart picks up, spiking with horror at the concept of another list of names.  _ No no no…  _ “Some new information has come to light concerning your client Mr Fisk. We would like to see him out within the year.” Matt doesn’t relax. “And Matthew? Well done.” The words are syrupy.

They sooth away any lingering jagged threads of emotion.

Matt doesn’t feel relief.

Doesn’t feel anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elektra-Daredevil is frienemies with the kingpin, the world is upside down.
> 
> Weird one this update, but I'll be back ASAP with a (maybe even weirder) chapter with a lot of actual Spider-Gwen stuff happening in the background, so future spoiler alert.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skimming by what Frank and Matt get up to in Spider-Gwen, Frank gets too involved with Gwen's case, meanwhile, an artificially sociopathic Matt is not helping matters at all.
> 
> Reminder that Frank and Matt are the bad guys here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Spider-Gwen spoilers this chapter, little summaries in the notes at the end.

Frank sits in the dark on the arm of his couch for a long time. It’s hours, feels like, before he finds that the newspaper is still clenched in his fist. His hand jerks open. He’s on his feet and stumbling away from it, cursing under his breath, pacing, pushing a hand through his tangled hair.

How did he get here? He walked out of his door, he _let him_ he didn’t stop him leaving _again_ because… because.

He stops and groans and kneads his eyes with the heels of his hands.

It’s not the same as Maria. Matt is a murderer, a criminal. _The_ criminal in New York, or, at least representative of that. He should never have come to care so much for him. He has to be crazy.

He has to be crazy, because he knows all that. He knows, and it still hurts.

Frank sits again. Can’t. Paces until his feet carry him back out of his apartment and to his office.

*

When Frank walks into his office he switches on the light. His chair turns around and he half wants to laugh, only it isn’t Matt sitting in it. It’s Jean. She looks… she looks awful. He figures she turned it around with the sudden jolt of being woken by the light, because she’s frowning at him, squinting.

“Frank…” She says slowly, as if she’s trying to get her head around what he’s doing here, in his own office.  
“Y’in my office, Jean. It’s 4am.”

“Oh…” She stares at him in complete confusion and then something snaps into place on her face. “Oh! You!” She lurches to her feet, glaring and spitting and dammit Frank has had quite enough of people _looking_ at him like that for one day. For one… 24 hour period in which he has yet to get any sleep. Frank’s eyes, drawn by her arm flailing as it swings about to point at him, focus on the bottle of Whiskey he keeps in the bottle left hand drawer. It’s sitting on the desk with the lid off. Quite a bit of it missing, actually.

“Jean…” Frank says slowly, holding up his hands as she stumbles toward him.  
“You… you were _fucking_ that man, the whole, the whole time it was _him_ do you know, do you know… we could lose our jobs! We could go… go to jail what have you... “  
“What are you…”  
“Don’t! Don’t play dumb with me, Castle, I came to your apartment t’tell you about the damn… the Roxxon shit! And… and he was there in your bed-- Matt fucking _Murdock--_ ”  
“We weren’t fucking Jean I swear, I swear we weren’t he…”  
“Oh that’s just recent then huh?”  
“No, he... “ Frank scrambles to explain how Matt came to him without, y’know. Telling her that Matt Murdock, the slimiest lawyer in New York, is secretly an assassin trained by some kind of Japanese ninja crime family, who is single handedly responsible for the murders that have brought an end to years of work. “He got beat up and came to me for help.” He says after a moment of spluttering, and it’s probably too much but she has to know that he didn’t listen to him just because… _fuck_ who is he trying to fool?

“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” She growls. “The man is loaded what did he need to come to you for?”  
“Why would I make that up, Jean?” He says. Keeping his voice soft isn’t hard. God, he’s just so tired.

Frank sighs and drops into the spare chair opposite his desk, head in his hands.

“I fucked up Jean. I know. I… shoulda come to you for help sooner I just… I’m not going to pretend I don’t… like him.”  
“ _Like_ him? What r’you in high school?” Jean grumbles, visibly trying to be mad at him and failing. She circles the desk and flops back into his chair.  
“He helped me with some cases.” Frank says. “A few cases.” He amends when she raises an eyebrow. “I know it was… for his own benefit for the most part but, we put people away didn’t we?” Though it’s hard to find the will to care about that right now. “Got too close. Couldn’t tell you.”

“I knew you were doing something shitty.” She sighs. “And I still tagged along with all your magic leads.”  
“Don’t. You didn’t know. I lied to you. He was my shitty little secret.” Frank says with disgust. “I'm ashamed to admit it but... he took me in. I… got compromised. It was all bullshit. He's all bullshit. I got no excuse.”  
“I did know, though. Didn’t know it was _him_ , but. You’ve been acting kinda weird for a while.”

Frank blinks hard, squints out of the window because he could have sworn… He gets to his feet and moves to look out at the city. The silhouette of a man moving away across the rooftops is unmistakable, if you know what to look for.  
“What is it?” Jean says.  
“Thought I saw a ninja.” He says, and she’s just drunk enough to snort bitterly and shrug.

*

Jean is good about it which doesn’t help the guilt. Frank is… at work a lot. Stacy’s abandoned case is a convenient workload to sort through, order into their own caseboard, rule out old leads for themselves. Jean seems to be making an effort to encourage it. She shouldn’t have to.  Frank would rather she was angry with him. As it is, being reported to the commissioner would be preferable to this. It’s verging on _pity._ Like he’s been taken in by a slippery character and… seduced into compromising.

But he’s good at his job. He’s good at his job. Even without Murdock, who he didn’t need.

“You’re a good cop, Castle.” Jean tells him. Too often, positive reinforcement that just reminds him how much of a fuck-up he is. Even if it’s true, it was slipping away from him before this all went down. Moving out of reach even though he gave up _everything_ …

Stacy. Frank finds himself going over the story over and over. Doesn’t make sense. Sounds like excuses. Like his _own_ excuses.

At first it’s a hunch.

Then it takes over. Frank’s in detective-mode like he didn’t realise he could. Consumed by it, borne along on it as everything falls into place. He’s not happier, but the sense of efficiency powering him must be visible because Jean seems happier anyway. Or at least she’s backed off his case, now.

Or maybe she’s just afraid of him again.

_So what if she is, she should be, she should be…._

Because the city is twisting and blurring into a battlefield, the mechanical violence is lurking closer than it has for years, just out of sight, dragged to the surface by the grotesque that is George Stacy’s willing abandonment of his _duty_ , how could he, _how could he…_

*

The scariest part, is that Frank feels in complete control of himself, when he executes his plan to take down Spider-Woman with the help of Kraven the hunter.

It feels natural, it feels right, that is, until after the fight, when Daredevil’s _fucking obnoxious_ silhouette looms in front of him, and her fist connects with his jaw.

And where the usual instinct to fight would kick in, there’s an odd, spinning sweet spot.

Everything crashes down around his ears.

“Castle. What the fuck were you thinking? _Kraven?”_ She seizes his lapels before he can react, and drags him to his feet. He yanks away from her, but he’s too reeling and breathless to fight back. She seems done hitting him for now though, content to yell instead.

“You _fool_ , you goddamn… she didn’t _do it_ don’t you understand? You are _wasting your time_ there’s more important things in this city…” Frank has never heard Daredevil so genuinely angry and when he latches onto that, he finds that he can rise back out of the hole of doubt he sank into for a while there.

“We are not _friends_.” Frank growls at her, turns away. “I told you that before. I don’t trust you. Don’t tell me how to do my job, you ain’t better than me.”

Maybe he’s not so sure anymore, but what he is sure of is that it doesn’t _matter_ what he is.

So long as what’s _right_ gets _done._

_*_

And _sure,_ sometimes he catches himself thinking about the despair on Murdock’s face, the empty resignation when he knew had to leave, when Frank _knew._

He tells himself Murdock was lying to him.

Dreams of him, shaking and weak and bleeding and slipping further and further from him, towards a gaping precipice, even as Frank strains to reach him... wakes knowing it was real, no matter what lies he tells himself.

As real as the broken heart he gave Maria, though he tells himself she was cold.

She left him for his duty, he could not have done more, the job was more important, the _job..._

*

He's minding his own business, enjoying a doughnut when the ninjas attack and somehow the idea that it's _Matt_ who must have done this hurts deeper than the punches.

It doesn't help of course that he believes he is going to die, this time, right before they mysteriously retreat.

Frank dials wrong three times before he gets the number in right. He's shaking and curled in the space between his sad, empty bed and the wall. Turned away from the mattress in case he sees _his_ shape there. In case he is still capable of missing him. Doesn't want to know.  
“Hello--”  
“Maria.” He chokes, but the voice is still speaking.  
“You’ve reached my voicemail, please leave a message after the tone and I'll call you back when I am available.” The tone comes all too quickly and he half stumbles over his words.  
“Maria, I don't want anything from you I don't expect… I just, wanted to hear your voice because today I… I thought I…” he pauses, doesn't want to risk that she still cares, can't bear to worry her. “Please tell Lisa I love her.” He whispers. “Or… don't if she misses me maybe it's better you just… but know I love her. An’ I didn't show it but, I care about you too, ok just… stay safe. Both of you stay safe.” His voice cracks and he knows he's said too much, but it's done.

Frank hangs up and doesn't move.

When the phone buzzes he jumps and almost lets it slip from his fingers. Only years of weapons training spare his phone screen. You don't drop your weapon.

It's just a text.

 _‘Are you safe?’_ He wants to touch the words she typed on the screen, does, but it only highlights the message. He can't blame her for not wanting to speak to him properly.  
‘Am now.’ He types back, it was always too difficult to lie to her, unless it was a lie he told himself.  
‘ _Are you drunk?’_ She asks next.  
‘Yeah.’ He tells her.  
_‘There's someone else isn't there?’_ He reads and chokes out some rough, incoherent syllable.  
‘Not anymore.’ He types back, teeth gritted.  
‘ You usually tell me you love me.’  
‘You don't need to hear that shit.’ He types.  
‘I'll tell her. Don't get yourself killed and don't do anything stupid, ok? I care too.’

Frank falls asleep drunk and wakes up late. It's a Saturday, thank… whoever. His ribs are bruised to hell, by the feel of them. His eyes are crusted shut and blurry but when he blinks some sense out of them, there's a photo from Maria in his inbox.

 _Lisa and Maria, smiling at the camera, ice cream on their noses, she's older, she's so grown up and he missed it- he threw it all away--_ _It has to have been worth it..._

***

“Ellie.” Gwen tries her best to do the scary sudden appearance thing but she'll never be Daredevil’s standard at that, she figures.  
“Hey, you doing ok?” Elektra just never seems to be fazed.  
“He attacked me in a fast food joint.” Gwen says.  
“Who?” Ellie exclaims, standing up very straight.  
“Castle.” Gwen tells her, and Elektra curses under her breath. Gwen blinks.  
“Wow, shouldn't you, I don't know cross yourself or whatever after saying that?”  
“I'm sure _He_ doesn't mind, given the circumstances. He actually attacked you?” Elektra presses.  
“I'm broad daylight.”  
“Are you ok?” Elektra takes both of her shoulders.  
“Yes but I'm going to be in some serious trouble if he outs me.” She says, tapping her foot in a nervous little twitch. “Did you talk to him?”  
“Mm. Punched him, actually.”  
“You what?”  
“After the Kraven thing.” She sighs. “I hit him. Knocked some sense into him for all of twenty seconds and then he was back to maniac again.”  
“Oh. Thanks for er… trying I guess?”  
“I may have made things worse.”  
“Well. I didn't want to seem ungrateful, but…” Gwen smiles sheepishly.  
“I have something on the ropes.” Ellie says. “Possibly a plan to get Castle back in the realms of somewhat reasonable, but I can't make any promises.”  
“You're not going to punch him again are you?” Gwen winces. Elektra grins. It's kinda unsettling, her teeth look weirdly sharp, suddenly.  
“No Gwen. It's a little more delicate than that. I'll keep you posted.” And then she's gone, because she's a dramatic shit.

***

“Oh, you did come, then.” Elektra adjusts her gym bag as Matthew falls into step with her.  
"Have I ever snubbed an invite?" Matthew is all teeth and cold eyes and Elektra's chest plunges a little bit. Hates it when she can't see his heart. Everything from the smile on his face to the confidence in his step is false. A void.   
"You have done, actually."   
"Have I? How could I have done that do _you_ ?" He makes a show of flattery that only goes to reveal immediately just how far he's forced his heart away. Or had it forced.   
  
He’s like a smiling plastic automaton. Even when they get into the ring and begin, it's like fighting a cold, empty robot.

“Where’s your form, Murdock?”  
“I'm beating you aren't I?”  
“Yeah but.” She ducks. “You're dead! Where's the fun?”  
“We here to fight or be smart at each other?”

"Come on! You're no fun to goad if you don't say anything back!" She tries to keep it playful but she knows he can hear the pain edged truth to it.  
"I won't let myself Elektra." He swings at her and misses. He's unrattled.   
"You won't? That easy?" She circles him.   
"That easy." He snaps icily. "You're only trying to make me lose focus.”

"Really? You don't get any kind of drive out of it?" She laughs at him as viciously as she can muster.  
  
They trade a few blows before he speaks again.   
"I beat you when I'm like this."   
"You admit that there is a _like this?_ "   
"I'm more focussed." He weaves away.   
"Is it worth it?"   
"There's nothing wrong with me Elektra."   
"Oh really? Nothing wrong?" She goes for him and he dodges with maddening calm.   
"Nothing."   
"You're fucking dead inside is what's wrong." She says, voice practically shaking with frustration. It's happened too many times and she's sick of it.   
"I don't need to..." he cuts himself off.   
"What? Feel?"   
"I don't need to feel."   
"Don't need to or can't?" She's shouting now, furiously trying to hit him. One blow lands and he stumbles back and gets a swing in at her. She leaps back to avoid a follow up attack.   
"Come on Matthew, can you feel? Can you feel _anything_ when you're like this?"   
"I don't _want_ to--" his voice has gone quiet and dull.   
"But you couldn't if you tried! They do this to you they always do this and you let them every time."   
"You have no idea what you're talking about." His voice is louder now but there's still so little emotion in it that it hurts more than the blow that glances off her jaw. She circles him, throwing a kick and a barrage of punches as quickly as she can. A few of them get past his blocks.   
"Tell me Matthew, when you come back, does it hurt?"   
"You have no idea what you're--"   
"Does it? When it's all within your reach again? Do you have enough heart left for it to ache?" He misses a block, she hits him right in the temple and he drops like a puppet with its strings cut.   
  
Panting on his knees, Matthew dabs a hand against his split lip, supports himself with the other.   
"You have no idea." He whispers. "How much it hurts."   
  
Elektra stands very still and tries to keep her breathing in check. Knows he's felt everything anyway. His face locks up her chest, too empty,   
  
Ellie abandons any pretense and crouches in front of him.   
"You can't let them keep doing this to you, Matthew."   
"They aren't just an abstract entity to me, Elektra." He murmurs. "They're people. Who I care about."   
"People who take away your _feelings_ if you start getting too out of hand."   
"Helps, it. It helps for a while it's better." There's fear in his eyes though, she knows at the thought of it coming back.   
"They don't do it to help you, they want you to remain an asset. You know they don't care about you. Not beyond what you can do. You're a tool."   
"Calling me names now?" His smile is faint, but a relief. She puts a hand on his shoulder, ignores the little twinge in her chest she gets when he twitches a little. She may be unused to physical contact- raised by nuns- but she figures raised-by-ninjas leaves one somewhat worse.   
"Please listen to me." She whispers. "I don't like seeing you like this. You know that."   
"Why didn't I marry you when I had the chance?" He says, and sure it's his usual level of sass but there's something oddly genuine in his voice. Ellie grins.   
"Because you're gay. Remember that?" She seats herself on the floor of the ring beside him.   
"Oh yeah." He smirks. "Could be it."   
  
They sit back to back, still bleeding from the fight, the devil and the kingpin. There's something awfully poetic about it.   
"I would have made an honest man of you by now if you'd had me." Elektra says. "Although if anyone had the best chance at that..." she stops herself.   
"It's ok, you can say his name."   
"We shouldn't talk about this just because you don't mind it right now. You will care later."   
"I can speak his name without going to pieces, Elektra, I'm not a teenager."   
"Matthew..."   
"Elektra. Foggy was... I loved him, I think. I don't regret anything more in all my life." He says, voice far too level. "But it was a while ago now."   
"Your biggest regret doesn't fade so well, even with time." She says gently.   
"No." He says softly. "But it's done. Isn't that what you always say?" There's something in his voice that makes Elektra tune in, suddenly.

"...You did something." Elektra says slowly.  
"Beside the murder of ten men it's not--"   
"Matthew." She says.   
"I didn't kill anyone else, or have anyone killed." He says stubbornly.   
  
They sit in silence.   
  
"I had Frank attacked to prove a point to George Stacy."   
" _Matthew!_ "   
"I was angry. He told his partner about us I heard them and I was... it was cruel. I know I'm going to feel it later, but _God_ I didn't think he would... I thought I could... I was stupid." He trails off at a hiss.   
  
Ellie leans a little against his back.   
"Well, it is done, anyway." She sighs. "What did he say?"   
"Was ashamed, ashamed of me." He murmurs.   
“He didn’t have anyone else to go to.” Elektra tells him.  
“Yeah.” Matt says quietly.

It's a long time before Matt draws in a sharp, determined breath.

“Listen. I’ve been passed some new evidence. Could get Fisk out earlier. Clears his name on the murders. They want him out early. Ten years early.” Matt’s voice is flat but focussed. This is important to him, even without his feelings intact. Elektra turns to stare at him. She takes a moment to turn the weight of this over in her mind. This is a change. If, even without his feelings Matt knows he can't let Fisk get out...

“You know if I help you, anything I find won’t be legitimate. It needs to come from somewhere…” She says eventually.  
“...Like Frank.” Matt finishes for her. “Yeah.” He says with a little sigh. “Like I’m ever going to be in a position to ask him a favour.”   
  
When they go their separate ways, Elektra thinks that two people more comfortable with physical contact might hug. They aren't such people. If they were, maybe they wouldn't be able to do this, whatever it is. They nod to each other, and that’s the end of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow Matt, way to overreact. Maria, by all rights that should have helped but what can you do? Poor Elektra is really up against it with these idiots.
> 
> Anyway, the Spider-Gwen spoilers:  
> \- Kraven the Hunter. Frank. Seriously, you idiot. In summary, he knows him and decides to get him to attack Gwen's house so that she'll reveal herself to save her dad. This goes about as well as you'd expect, for everyone.  
> \- Matt meets Gwen's dad on a roof overlooking Frank's doughnut snack-spot (think of your body, Frank) and tells him he can take the by now very dangerous Frank out of the equation and sets a bunch of his guys on him. Obv George tells him to quit it.
> 
> Frank is not having a good time. Don't feel too sorry for him though, because he's taking it out on Gwen and her dad and that is super not cool, Frank, jeeze.
> 
> Matt's stolen emotional state is obviously a giant splash of artistic licence, because I just found I couldn't write Matt as utterly heartless and I wanted to play with the factors that could cause a Matt Murdock with that heart of his we all know and love to manage to become a deadly assassin. I'm weak what can I say. Not that I'm consistent with the keep-them-basically-the-same, as evidenced by this Matt being into dudes only.


	7. Chapter 7

Matt can't feel. And... for maybe the first time in his life, he's absolutely sure he wants to. It feels like having a sense missing. Having a limb missing.  
  
It makes no sense, he knows. Feeling nothing where he should feel something shouldn't be considered pain exactly.   
  
And yet...   
When he thinks of Frank he doesn't get that glow in his chest. It's missing, it's out of reach it's...   
  
He's standing on the roof above his office, listening for him, dress shoes off and tied around his cane, slung over his shoulder. Convinced himself to come, only by repeating to himself one grim fact. Fisk must remain behind bars. Whatever they want, whatever their intentions may be, something inside him simply will not allow him to assist Fisk in his early release. Convinced himself that ge _had_ to tell Frank. Now that he’s here, he realises he was lying to himself. He has much more than only practical reasons for being here.

When he hears Frank enter the building, his entire body shudders.  
  
He has to be close to him.   
  
He chews his lip, considers, flits indecisively between the roof access and the fire escape, before finally entering the building.   
  
If he can get close maybe it will come back. It's like a silent ache inside him.   
  
Maybe he can make Frank punch or shake or fuck emotion right back into him.   
  
Anything to fix this.   
  
He can't sit still for long enough to do the dramatic appearance in the chair, even for old times sake. Besides they aren't... on such good terms right now. He might not appreciate it.   
  
"Frank." He says when he enters the room. Frank glances behind him as if there's anyone out there in the corridor (Matt knows there isn't) before shutting the door. Matt's positioned himself close to the window, in case Frank reacts as he _should_ really. Frank takes a few angry steps towards him.   
"You'd better have a damn good reason to be here." He growls.   
"I don't." Matt admits at once, takes a step towards him. "I wanted to apologise." It's not even true but it's what he comes out with on the spot nonetheless.   
"I just got suspended." Frank comes out with it, anger tinged with exasperation and oh. Matt was so wrapped up in himself that he missed the state Frank is in. His pulse is racing, his breathing is all unsteady and he's bruised and bleeding... dressed in not a suit but what feels a lot like body armour to Matt's radar sense. He can smell smoke and burning and suddenly he feels very selfish, if indeed he can feel at all.   
"Are you alright?" He says, idiotically flippant.   
"No." Frank says shortly. "I just... only reason I didn't get arrested is because  nobody saw exactly what happened." He sounds blindingly angry, but the sort of anger that has solidified into a solid block of rage.   
"What are you doing here?" Matt asks. He has room to be interested rather than simply being concerned.   
"I couldn't go home." He paces. "Why am I even talking to you." Matt can read his face, scowling and he imagines, pretty terrifying to someone who can see it. Frank shifts restlessly, dangerously, and right now there's no part of Matt to hurt seeing him like this. Violence is what he wants. The thought is terrifying. This was a mistake.   
"I'm sorry this is a bad time I'll..."   
"What come back? You think there's a good time to see me? You were behind that attack, weren’t you?" Frank demands.   
"Yes." Matt says softly and Frank is a sudden violent blur.   
  
Matt dodges but Frank moves faster, smelling of adrenaline, and he pushes himself off from the wall and manages to catch Matt on the cheekbone. Matt swings about sharply and catches him in the chest with a kick, knocking him back.   
  
"What the fuck is wrong with you." Frank grunts, like an unstoppable angry bull, charges at him again. Matt dodges.   
"You can do better than that!" He finds himself shouting the words. "Come on! Hit me, Frank!" Frank's haymaker is easy to dodge and then use to his advantage, spinning Frank around with his own momentum and punching him away.   
"Come on!" Matt says again. "Fucking fight me!" Frank roars and Matt knows that this is the maniac that's been coming after Gwen Stacy, knows he's gone too far.   
"Why can't you just leave me alone--" Frank bellows, coming after him in a barrage of quick punches. Matt takes a few blows, one to the gut that makes him choke and stagger. "Why do you always fucking hound me when I'm weak-- you're always here--" Matt blocks but Frank has him in a corner. "Did you come to laugh at me? At what you've made me huh?" Frank's voice is breaking behind the anger.   
"No-- Frank I came to--" but the attack is too heavy and he barely manages to dodge enough to get an opening to move out of danger.   
"I didn't know!"   
"You never fucking know!" And Frank hits him, square in the nose.   
  
Matt reels away and catches a wall. Why is he always losing these days? He wonders dully. He never lost before.   
  
"I came to see you, Frank I wanted to see you." He says, because short of pulling a knife or running, there's no way out of this one and he isn't willing to do either.   
"Why?" Frank hesitates, fists still raised and voice a dark growl.   
"Because you help me." Matt says. Can't really elaborate in any way that he can see making sense.   
"You..." Frank is still angry but he's lowering his fists.   
  
Matt shoves himself away from the wall, grabs Frank's face and kisses him.

He's ready for Frank to punch him. Frank only grabs him and pulls him closer.  
  
It's different from the last time, Frank gripping his shoulders, kissing back, furiously, blood in their mouths from Matt's busted nose.   
  
Matt pushes Frank backwards into a wall and his back hits it with a jarring bump that almost dislodges their lips, but they cling on with hard, needy fingers.   
"Fuck--" Frank says, Matt shifting his head to mouth at his neck, bite lightly along his pulse. "You fucking..." he seizes Matt's arms, spins them around and slams him into the wall, moves to suck at his neck and Matt gasps and writhes, Frank's leg shifting against his groin and making his back arch with it, crowded against the wall by Frank's solid mass.   
"Take what you want--" Matt moans, bucking against him as best he can, pinned as he is by Frank. "Come on--" he growls. Frank shifts his mouth from his neck and stays there, bared teeth against his flesh.   
"What's your game now, Murdock?" The sound of his words vibrates against Matt's skin and he trembles.   
"No games." Matt says still pinned to the wall by his arms and Frank is leaning out of reach now, friction Matt wants so desperately lifting away from him. He coils with need, back arching as he strains to get the contact back.   
"No games Frank I just fucking-- fucking want you I've wanted you from the beginning don't you see I just I couldn't-- but I don't care now--"   
"What's the price going to be this time." The energy has faded from him now, he's just an immovable rock, keeping Matt's needy thrusts out of reach, staying hot and overwhelmingly close without touching.   
"Don't care Frank they can't stop us let them-- do what they want just let them try--" and when he tries to kiss him, Frank's still solid but somehow...   
  
Frank's not less interested, Matt can feel how hard he is, feel the blood pulsing through his body. But something about him has changed. When he presses himself up against Matt he's not working so furiously, just soaking up Matt's frantic attempts to fight for pleasure, for feeling.   
"Shh." He murmurs, carefully releasing Matt's arms and resting his hands instead, on his hips, shrugging off Matt's desperate attempts to coax him back to anger, to violence.   
"Stop it now, I got you." Frank rumbles, head bowed into his space. "No-one's gonna take this from us. We're gonna have this. You and me. Don't have to fight for it alright?" He runs his thumbs gently at his waist. "It's gonna be a good thing. Can you do that?"   
"Y-yeah..." Maybe the jolt in his chest is something close to feeling.   
  
"Wait, wait." Matt pulls back a little. "Don't do this if you'll hate yourself for it. Don't." And he's feeling again, just a little, but it's only pain. At the idea of Frank regretting this.   
"I don't hate you and I don't hate myself for wanting this, Matt." He says firmly. "I'm already in too deep with you."   
"Wanna get- ah- deeper..?" Matt groans as Frank's leg rubs between his. Frank chuckles.   
"I've had a pretty shitty day but you always know how to make me laugh." He dips his head down to place a soft little kiss at his mouth.   
"S'my razor sharp wit ah--" Matt gasps because Frank has spun him on the spot so that he's facing the wall, coaxing his arms up to steady himself against the it and the bulge in his pants is rubbing against his ass and... Frank is sinking to his knees...   
  
Frank reaches forward, probing slowly at his waistband. He's slow with Matt’s belt, almost teasingly so. Draws his pants down, following the shape of his ass.  
  
Matt moans, gasping and stuttering, hands scrabbling to get a hold on the wall, because Frank's behind him, licking and mouthing and Matt jerks at the sensation of it. Frank draws back a little and Matt splutters for words to explain…  
“Don't stop I'm just-- please don't stop…” he breathes.  
“Sensitive huh?” Frank whispers, breath shimmering across Matt’s dampened skin. He moans in agreement.  
  
How they get to the desk exactly Matt couldn't say, the world a bright and breathless tangle of pleasure and his fingers are clumsy as he struggles to get Frank out of the vest thing he's in. He feels Frank's chest when he's done, the shirt underneath sweat soaked but soft. And then he's bent over the desk and Frank's knelt behind him and close and...   
  
Frank lavishes him with attention, systematically stroking and working at him with his hands and mouth until Matt is lax and breathing in involuntary little moans of bliss.   
  
Then, Frank's body moves away.   
  
Matt tilts his head to follow his movements. Frank crosses the room to the coat hook, digs about in his jacket pockets.   
"You... you have stuff?" Matt says incredulously.   
"Look when we were... after you kissed me." Considering where he just had his tongue, Frank's oddly bashful now, shifting on his feet. "Thought maybe... we should be prepared if we wanted to fool around."   
"Damn Boy Scout." Matt shifts, impatiently moving against the desk.   
  
"You're gonna want this." Frank finishes locking the door and returns to him with the jacket, tucks under his chest.   
"I can sense if anyone comes in..."   
"You won't be able to by the time I'm done with you." Frank says, feral grin shaping his words. Matt giggles breathlessly, excitement growing in his chest. Light and untethered, can't believe he's doing this. Defiantly shoves doubts away.   
  
They want this, so why shouldn't they have it?   
  
Frank's body settles around his, a soft weight. Matt can't keep his body still, shifting against him. Frank lifts again to unbuckle his own belt, to open a couple of packets and prepare himself, and he's right, the world around them is buzzing away from Matt's perception.   
  
Everything is Frank, the sound the smell the _feeling._ His heart steadied for a while, but now it's fast and excited and Matt can feel the blood pulsing through his body against his back, wants to melt against his chest, jumping with sensitivity even through their shirts.   
  
Frank nudges his legs open a little wider with his knee, strokes his back with splayed hands, earning a murmur of enjoyment from Matt, leans further forward to place a kiss against his still clothed shoulder blades.   
  
Then he takes Matt's hips firmly between his palms.   
Matt moans helplessly, muffling his cries as he hears Frank panting behind him. He settles in with a groan and Matt feels a comfortable tingling spreading through his body as Frank begins to move.   
  
He's slow, at first, taking Matt apart with careful movements.   
"This ok?" He asks softly and Matt groans.   
"It's good, so good..." Matt breathes, gripping the jacket, the desk, to get some leverage to raise himself higher, get a better angle, and Frank runs his teeth gently against his ear before he moves again.   
  
Matt feels as if he's disassembling, not in a bad way, as if all the jagged, terrible pieces of himself are falling away into brightness. He'd feel helpless to it, if he couldn't hear Frank's wrecked breath in his ear, if he didn't know that Frank is in a similar state.   
"God, Matt, God..." he whispers, Matt muffling himself with the jacket because he can't stop himself from crying out.   
  
Matt never could last long, he's too easily physically overwhelmed and he comes first, untouched, chest bursting with something bright and gold. He jerks and trembles, though he's been so vocal he doubt Frank notices, still moving inside him, steadily, surely, breath shuddering out against the back of Matt's neck. Matt rides it out, body bright and hot and breath catching, fingers clenching and unclenching on the edge of the desk.   
  
Matt's wrecked and oversensitive before Frank leans closer, reaches an arm around to stroke him and Matt groans and grinds backwards against him, incoherently urging him on.   
  
Frank hits his climax with a sound that is half a gasp and half a grunt and between that and the firm pulls of his hand, Matt tips over a second edge, legs going numb as he loses himself in a tide of sensation more intense than the first.   
  
Matt and Frank sink to the ground behind the desk, chair rolled back out of the way, clinging and kissing and touching. Matt can't let go of him, suddenly afraid he's going to slide off the edge of the world without Frank to anchor him.   
  
Like he's standing on a precipice, like he hasn't decided to jump yet.   
  
They refasten their pants like it's some kind of ritual, but then Frank folds him in his arms, and they just lay there on the jacket on the carpet behind the desk in the office that Frank has no right to, now.   
  
"Why didn't we do that months ago?" Frank murmurs, face pressed against Matt's back.   
"We half hated each other."   
"I never hated you. That's why you made me so mad. I wanted to, but. Never could."   
"Oh." Matt tightens his grip on Frank's arms, locked solidly around his chest from behind. "I didn't hate you either." He admits. "I chose you because I liked you. No other reason."   
"Stalker." Frank sighs happily.   
"Maniac." Matt murmurs back. Frank chuckles.   
  
He sounds very tired suddenly, like it's all caught up with him. He yawns.   
"Wanna talk about what happened?" Matt says.   
"No." Frank mumbles into his back. "Was about Stacy that's all you need to know." He pauses. "I lost my shit Matt I really did." He says darkly, kisses Matt's back as if in some kind of apology.   
"Anyone hurt?" Matt says gingerly. He thinks not judging by Frank's heartbeat.   
"Other than my pride?" He says, beard shifting as he smiles wryly. "Nah. I tried, though. Shit. Daredevil is gonna be pissed when she finds out."   
"You gonna go after the kid again.?"   
"No."   
"Well she'll be glad of that anyway."   
"How is it you're friends?" Frank says which Matt can't help but feel is quite an ironic question given the circumstances.   
"College." He says sleepily.   
"That explains nothing."   
"She'd rather have me in charge than Fisk I'm less... she knows she can stop me letting things... anyway. It just works."   
"Right."   
  
Matt thinks he may have given too much away for maybe a split second before Frank shifts and tightens his arms around him and Matt is struck with a sudden sense that, considering what just happened, he shouldn’t feel defensive in baring his emotions to Frank. Frank isn’t going to use anything against him.

“Frank.” Matt murmurs. “I need to tell you something.”  
“Ok…” Frank sounds unsure.  
“It’s business.”  
“Oh. Can it wait?” He says, but his tone is teasing.  
“They have ‘evidence’ that could clear Fisk of his murder charges.” Matt whispers. “I can’t let him get out.”

Frank lies there in silence for a long time. The weight of what Matt just did hangs in the air.  
“I have people I can tell.” Frank strokes his arm. “This is… the opposite of what you approached me for.”  
“Nah. I still like you.” Matt nuzzles against his arm. “Bit more than that now, actually.”

Thinks he’s said too much, but Frank just holds him and breathes steadily.  
“Leave Fisk to me.” He murmurs. “I knew you were a good man.” Frank says it so earnestly that Matt chokes out a horrified scrape of laughter.  
“Let’s not go that far. I still run his _crime_ enterprises while he’s inside.”  
“Deep down.” Frank chuckles. “One thing at a time. One… huge thing.”

After that, there seems to be a comfortable warmth in the room. Matt hears Frank's breathing slowly drop into snoring. For once, everything seems right with the universe.  
  
*   
  
Only, when Matt wakes, there's nothing to keep him from the bottomless, spinning sensation that he's made a mistake. Frank's arm is still around him but the comfort that should be giving him is lost behind a wall of sudden horror. He freezes. Matt knows how to panic quietly, and he does now, trying not to choke out loud.   
  
He's careful when he disentangles himself. Doesn't wake Frank. It's still night, he can tell by the smell when he opens the window. Braille smartwatch tells him it's 3am. He slams the window on exit to wake Frank. Can't let anyone find him asleep behind his desk.

*

The moment Matt arrives in his apartment, the phone rings and he knows that they know. The plunging sensation hits rock bottom.

Matt barely hears him give the order, world a rising wall of sound around him.

"The District Attorney. 24 hours." Matt forces his voice steady, the order hanging coldly in the air.

“Understood.”

The thought of what they are asking of him slips under his skin, a creeping sickness already turning his stomach.  
  
He hangs up the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, skipping by the absolute disaster that is Frank's life choices in Spider-Gwen. Poor Gwen, she does not deserve.
> 
> Matt keep it together, you're ruining everything.


	8. Chapter 8

Matt remembers some English comedy from when he was a kid, a bard singing to a retreating knight.  
  
_Bravely ran away away…_

It occurs to him now, madly, as he flees through the rising confusion of city sounds with Foggy's choking _"Matt?"_ echoing in his head as he recognised the intruder, fear muffled with sleep.   
  
God, he's so fucked.   
  
He knows it. Knows he has to be wrong in the head to have gotten as far as he did, stood in his living room with a knife in his hand and no intention of going through with it but if not then why did he go why did he--   
  
Falls into his apartment, clumsy with horror.   
  
Don't they ever stop don't they ever stop screaming? The city mocks him, a wall of chattering, crying, _bleeding_ noise and smell...   
  
Barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up.  
  
He saw him he saw him…  
  
He was always sick. When he was young, when they first taught him to hurt people. Said it made him weak.   
  
Franklin Nelson, whose name he can only think on repeat in that cold, dead voice, was the first person he ever met who told him he wasn't weak for that.   
  
Even after, even after...   
  
He white-knuckles the toilet seat and gags into it.   
  
"Matt... are you gonna... you're here to kill me." His voice turned high and dull when he realised that the knife was for him.

Tries to breathe slowly but the manic blur and clatter of sound all around his head chokes him. He feels pinned down and breathless beneath it. Stop just _stop_ ...   
  
It's too much, he can't he just can't. 

*

Matt is curled on the bathroom tiles beside the toilet, trembling and blank, blaring noise coiled around him like a noose. Somehow, through the onslaught of sharp fragments of everything his senses are dumping on him, he hears the front door open.  
  
Bolts upright in a rush, flailing into get his senses onto whoever just came in.   
  
Two people, one of whom is...   
Elektra...   
  
"I didn't kill him I didn't do it..." Matt wheezes out desperately, scrambles away from the bathroom door as she enters the room in a rush. His heart pounds, jumping his entire chest with it. Turns his face away from her, fear dragging at his limbs. Fear.   
  
_An instrument does not feel fear…_

Elektra doesn't come in any closer, just slowly sinks into a crouch. Bringing herself down to his level.  
"I know." She says quietly. "He called me after you left."   
  
Matt stays frozen, sprawled against the side of the bath. Realises he's panting. Couldn't hear it over the twisted nightmare of the suffering in the city all around him.   
  
_Shut up just shut up--_

But he clears his throat instead of screaming.

"He called you?" Matt's stomach twists.  
"Yeah. Said you ran." Her voice is soft where it should be jagged with fury.   
"I couldn't do it." He has to say it at a tiny whisper and his voice shakes as he does.   
"Course not." Elektra says. "You went to Frank. They must have known you were planning on sabotaging their plan to get Fisk out."   
"I failed I never... Elektra I failed an order..." He's shaking badly now, fear rising, mixing, what he nearly did, that he failed he _failed_ ...   
"It's gonna be ok." She says steadily. "We'll figure this out, alright?"   
"They'll kill him now, they- oh god- Elektra they'll..." he tries to move, get up, and finds he's frozen with horror.   
  
People are screaming somewhere, tyres screeching, sirens-- _shut up shut up--_

"The district attorney has been assigned a guard detail after he reported a suspected attempt on his life." The familiar rumble of the voice isn't so much of a shock. Maybe he knew he was there all along.  
"Frank." Matt whispers tightly, turns his head further away from them.   
"Yeah." Frank says. "Listen Matt, Franklin is safe. You don't have to worry about that."

“How d’you know you're suspended…”  
“I called in a favour.”  
  
Frank moves past Elektra into the room, steady and sure movements, until he's close enough for Matt to centre him, a big, distinctive living point of focus for his senses. Frank gets down on his knees and sits back on his heels.   
"Can I..." he reaches out a hand hesitantly. Matt just nods and Frank touches his shoulder. His hand is big and warm and very, very gentle. "Ok." Frank says. "Ok, deep breaths. It's ok. You're ok."   
"S-soft fucking, fucking _nonsense_ ..." Matt hisses, wanting to drag himself away from the kindness, body too seized up. Frank is unmoved.   
"Murdock." He says, voice calmer and steadier than Matt's ever heard. "Come on.  You gotta breathe with me now. You're hyperventilating."   
"Don't- d-don't." Matt finds he's shaking his head compulsively. "I can't--"   
"Yeah you can." Frank says, slow and quiet. "Just breathe with me, like me, come on."   
  
Matt's skin feels burning and oversensitive at the point of contact, half desperate to crawl away, half melting into Frank's touch.   
  
But he can hear Frank breathing steadily.   
  
Matt presses his eyes shut in some sort of useless extension to the effort to concentrate.   
  
Wraps himself in the sound of Frank's breathing. Pulls himself to it from the tangle of noise.   
  
"That's it." Frank murmurs. "That's right. Just keep breathing." Frank gets an arm around his back, eases him upright, away from the bath, rubs between his shoulder blades in slow circles. Matt gasps a little, shudders. Frank stops and leans away to give him some space, but Matt clings to him.   
"Please." He whispers, can't get anything more out. Can't explain that he's just not used to it.   
"Ok, ok, I'm not goin' anywhere." Frank tells him softly. "It's alright." He looks back at Elektra. "Hey can you grab a blanket or something, he's in shock." Frank says in an unnecessary undertone. She returns with one and Frank hushes Matt, carefully wraps him in it.   
"That's it." He murmurs, still rubbing at his back. "You're ok."   
  
Matt comes back to himself enough to realise his head is light and spinning, enough to feel the silence in the room over the now less oppressive cacophony of the city.   
"Thank you." He says. "Both of you. For coming."   
"It's ok, Matt. You know I'm willing to be your friend if you'll let me." Elektra tells him.   
"I'm sorry." Frank says.   
"What d'you have to be sorry for?" Matt chokes out half a laugh. It's bitter though, humourless, because Frank being in the same building as him is more than he deserves.

"I'm not better than you." Frank says. "Sorry for holding that over you. I got no right to judge."  
"I... kinda had you attacked by ninjas don't think you uh, don't think it compares."  
"You are the most frustrating pair of people I've ever met." Elektra sighs. "Are you hurt, Matt? Castle is going to put his back out if he has to sit with you on the bathroom tiles for much longer."  
"Think if Matt was gonna put my back out he'd have managed that by now..." Frank grumbles with a tiny smile pulling at his mouth.  
"Gross." Elektra says.  
"Sure." Matt says a little numbly. "E... Daredevil. You need to go to Foggy. You shouldn't be with me. I'm the one who... please."  
"Alright." She says softly.  
  
Frank still supports him to the couch. The solid warmth of him is enough to make Matt want to trust it, fall into it like a deep, warm comforter when you're cold and exhausted. As it is, he allows himself to lean a little, and when Frank settles him on the sofa, fussing the blanket he's wrapped around him, Matt tips himself against him and lets the heat of his body soak through the blanket. Frank shifts to let him rest more comfortably.  
"Oh, babes." Matt sighs, nuzzles his neck just a little. "What are we gonna do."  
"Don't matter right now." Frank says, carefully puts his arms around him.  
"You're coddling me." He murmurs, clinging to Frank, feeling like he's been ripped open or otherwise damaged beyond repair. The Hand will not welcome him back this time.  
"Yeah well. You seem like you need it, huh." Frank gently strokes his arms. "Swanky place you got here." He says.  
"M'a swanky guy." He giggles weakly. "Though not for much longer I suppose."  
"Worry about that later."  
"Right." Matt mutters. "But don't get too comfy. I'm gonna be out on my ass the second they realise. Probably gonna kill me."  
"They're not going to kill you." Frank tightens his hold around him. "Not if I can help it."

"So they buy you this place?"  
"No I bought it. Being a top notch scumbag lawyer will do that."  
"They can't kick you out of your own house." Frank says but Matt just snorts.  
"Watch them find a way."  
"Then stay with me." Frank blurts it, tightening his hold. Matt feels overwhelmingly secure, he almost wants to cry at the relief of it.  
"Frank." He whispers. "That won't make us any safer, you know that."  
"Maybe not." He says into his hair. His breath is hot against Matt's scalp. He kisses him there, long and lingering. "But we'll be... not so certain they're watching us."  
  
Frank sits very still for a long time. "I didn't tell Jean." He mumbles. "I wouldn't do that to you. You're safe with me. She found my apartment open and saw you." Frank says.

“They… must have opened it to let her in.” Matt whispers. Frank takes a long breath.  
"If I sounded ashamed of you I'm sorry. It was never you I was ashamed of, not really. I'm sorry for ever thinking I was."  
  
Matt's throat feels hot and heavy. "I had you attacked to prove a point to Stacy and I was, I was mad enough at you to do it." He whispers. Frank just kisses him again.   
"Yeah well, I kicked you out when you needed me most. You were covered in a lot of blood that wasn't yours. You practically confessed to me and I didn't care what you'd done until I had to. I thought throwing you out would what? Spare my conscience? No. No I figured out I love you more than the job and it scared me. Took it out on you. Ain't that worse than selling you out?" _Love_ . Matt's breath spills out in shock when he says it. It takes a couple of hollow gasps to get it back.   
"Not worse." Matt mumbles. Can't believe he's forgiven. Doesn't come close to deserving it. "I love you too." Is all he can get out. His heart is twisting and bursting all at once. Matt hears Frank's heart clearly speed up. Frank shifts to get his legs snug on either side of his body, to safely envelope him that little bit more. Matt sighs and relaxes his body against him.   
  
For a moment, all Matt can do is cling to Frank's shirt and bury his face against his neck and breathe him in.   
  
"We're a pair, huh." Frank murmurs.   
"We are that. Sorry for running last night. I freaked out." Matt says heavily.  
"S'ok sweetheart." Frank says softly. "I get it."   
  
There's a silence. Matt slips into oddly comfortable sleepiness, lulled by Frank's steady heartbeat, the repetitive movement of his hand through his hair. It's still a lot, all this contact, good as it is. Just within the realms of manageable. His body doesn't quite know how to handle it as much as it wants it.   
  
"I ran away. First time with a guy." Frank says, voice a soothing lull of sound.   
"That wasn't my first time with a guy." Matt says with a slow grin, the sort that do something satisfying with Frank's heartbeat. "I'm all sorts of gay, babes."   
"I know I know." Frank chuckles. "But I was my first time I'm talkin' about. Marines, both of us. Kids, really. Got carried away and I was in his bunk and I had to hide under someone else's until the boys left to shower so I could run back to _my_ bunk. Coupla sergeants came the other way- talking or I wouldn't have heard them coming- had to dive into a broom closet. Stood in it for an hour with a vest covering my junk. They talked about how much they missed sex, kept tryna emphasise how straight they were. Remember thinkin' I weren't convinced. Didn't even get caught. Other guy got in trouble for losing a vest."

"You had to run about butt naked?" Matt chuckles.  
"There was a vest." Frank says again. "Held precariously over my dick. And that's how I nearly ended my military career 12 years earlier." He sounds suddenly wistful.   
  
Maybe Frank can tell that Matt needs it, because he seems happy to just stay calm and still and speak to him with that strangely gentle voice. The terrible clawing tension in Matt's chest has faded, now. He can catch his breath.

"Five of those years I was a glorified mercenary." Frank says. “I uh, y’know, bein’ a mercenary ain’t something I ever… wanted to be, no-one wants that when they’re a kid. Lisa wants to be a damn astronaut. Shit, sorry, you don’t need this right now.”

“Don’t stop, please.” Matt murmurs. Frank snorts.

“Ok. It’s not a fun story.” He mutters, takes a breath that tightens Matt’s arms around him before he continues. “My squad… I always wanted to chase justice down, Maria said. But. They went off book. Treated it like a game. I… lost my shit. Fired on my own. Woulda gotten a dishonourable discharge, only, they- Stark’s people- gave me the sales pitch. Money musta changed hands. Gave up my morals, my damn dignity, just ‘cause I didn’t want the shame. I mean… didn’t even work in the end. Everyone knows what I was.”  
  
"We told ourselves we were better than that, hid behind all Stark’s fancy toys. Wore that goddamn stupid skull vest. Punisher they called me."   
"It has a skull on it?" Matt half smiles. Frank lets out a little 'heh' and squeezes him.   
"Did some bad stuff. Real bad. Maria she... told me I had to come home, couple of years after Lisa was born. Musta seen what it was doing to me before I did. Didn't listen right away. Then I... we were in the park and there was a noise, like an explosion- bike backfiring I think- but for a second, instead of tourists all I could see was carnage. My instinct wasn't to protect Maria and Lisa, it was to fight. I was closer to that than my family. Felt like... a shell of myself. All came into focus. Like having my guts ripped out. Less and less of me had been coming back every time I came home and I never noticed."   
  
Frank's breath shudders in a few times, when he pauses.   
"And, then." He says. "When I got back for good I buried myself in police work so I didn't have to figure out how to be myself again and I lost the rest." He says all in a rush. Matt shifts to more securely wrap both arms around him. Frank kisses his head again. "You make me feel like myself." He says. "Somehow, you help me get back."   
"I… _help_ you?" Matt says, voice strangled. "H-how--" And now he's overwhelmed. It all tips over.   
  
For a few, sickening moments he can't cope at all. Clings to Frank and tries not to break. As if everything he's done, everything he is, has swept over him in a wave. Every interaction he's ever had feels like he's forever leeching their goodness right out of them, parasitic and hungry for things he does not deserve, things he shouldn't want or need.   
  
But he helps Frank.   
  
Somehow, through, the twisted mess of him, he's something other than a horror for one person, at least.   
  
"Hey, stay with me, ok?" Frank says, rubbing his back, circling him with his thighs, Matt sprawled out, arms wrapped tightly around Frank's thick torso. "I got you, ok? I got you."   
  
Matt can't speak for some time, not even to reassure him.   
  
"It really so hard to believe?" Frank murmurs with a watery sort of smile.   
"It is." Matt mumbles. He pants, tightens his hold on Frank's shirt. "I'm a fucking monster." It slips out, sobbing like he's going to shake right apart. His voice trembles and collapses, face wet.   
  
Frank's breath gasps in.   
"You're not a monster." He says, Matt can hear Frank trying to keep his voice steady, but there's a very real note of pain to it. He strokes Matt's hair with one hand.   
"You're not you're not a monster sweetheart."   
  
Matt feels shaken and exposed, but eventually he can speak. Has to, he thinks.   
  
"I don't think I ever really had a self." Matt whispers it against his chest so he doesn't have to worry about what his face is doing. Doesn't have to move. "Independence was discouraged. They... it was a uh, training was uh, it was competitive I try not to remember the names of the friends I... lost." He can't say _killed_ like he means, his voice gives out again and Frank figures it out, judging by the way his limbs twitch. "You're stronger than they’d like you to be." Frank says, a little hollowly. "Don't tense up like that, you are. They couldn't break you."   
  
The laugh that spills out of Matt feels like he's rupturing somewhere in his chest.   
"Frank, I hate to tell you this, but if I let go of you I'm going to fucking crumble to dust ."   
"You're gonna be ok. They got no hold on you now." Frank tells him. He sounds so sure of it that Matt almost manages to feel ok with that.   
"You need to sleep, alright?"   
"So do you." Matt mumbles.   
"Yeah, ok. I will, too." Frank says.   
  
Matt's bed feels somehow softer with Frank in it. Curled up in his arms, Matt can finally let the exhaustion take him. He drifts off warmer than maybe he's ever been, secure against Frank's chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that Foggy is the DA in earth #65?
> 
> Anyways, that's a dwindling piece of remaining canon up there with the Frank backstory plus some embroidery.


	9. Chapter 9

Matt's cold. He's awake and the dread doesn't fade, gets heavier, like waking from a dream that he finds, isn't a dream at all. It's a horribly familiar feeling.  
  
Frank's gone.   
  
Matt curls up, stomach cold.   
  
Then he smells coffee.   
  
Matt shoves himself upright, sucks in a breath. Frank's consistent baseline of gunpowder and slightly unwashed hair seeps in under the coffee.   
  
"Hey." Frank moves back into the room holding two cups, before Matt has time to process the relief. He sets them down. Matt unfurls to meet him as he slides back into bed beside him.   
  
Frank chuckles as Matt nuzzles against his shoulder, drinking in the warmth, the smell of his skin. Frank loosely moves to get an arm around him.   
"You're here." Matt says.   
"Where else'd I be?" Frank says. Matt shrugs and snuggles closer. "You're cute when you just woke up." Frank tells him. "Took me a while to figure out the coffee machine, damn complex. Felt like I accidentally got a job at Starbucks." He pauses. "I s'pose that's an option I might wanna be thinkin' about."   
"You haven't lost your job."   
"Not yet." He says. Doesn't sound too concerned. "Kinda deserve to, to tell you the truth."

“Shit.” Matt sits bolt upright. “I'm _not_ suspended.”  
“Er no you're just in trouble with a cult.”  
“No I mean, I have a meeting with _Fisk_ today.”  
“Oh.” Frank says, to his credit, evenly. “You gonna go?”  
“Well. He's still my client.” Matt says slowly.  
“I mean…”  
“I know what you mean.” Matt snaps. “That's exactly why I have to go. Make sure Fisk knows where I stand before they try to displace me. He trusts me. The longer he remains my client the more time we have to work with.”

“You got time for a coffee?” Frank’s voice has gone sort of husky and soft.  
“It's not until lunch time.” Matt says, suddenly acutely aware that Frank is feeling like a bit more than a coffee.  
“Could use a _shower_ too.” Matt says, a slow grin spreading across his face.

 

Matt hardly registers getting undressed. One moment he's clothed and pressing himself up against Frank as they stagger to the bathroom, the next he's naked and Frank’s hot skin is against his back, pushing his chest against the cool shower tiles.

“You have a fucking huge shower.” Frank says against his skin.  
“Shorts out my radar.” Matt explains, voice thick with pleasure as Frank nibbles down his neck and across his shoulders. “Like to s-stay in it sometimes when I can't- uhn- zone it out…”  
“You ever done this?” Frank asks him.  
“No.” Matt disentangles himself a little to twist the knob and Frank yelps and lurches out of the way of the cold water.

The water cuts through Matt’s usual mental juggling act of perception, fading it smoothly into white noise. He feels his shoulders relax. His mind is blessedly quiet.

“Oh.” Frank says faintly. He reaches out with his fingertips, hesitantly at first, moving back into Matt's space so that their chests almost touch. Matt can feel the heat burning off him. “You look different, when you're not hearing everything.” Frank runs his hands over Matt’s body, slick with water, and Matt reaches to touch him. Frank’s solid and soft all at once. He explores every inch, cataloging the hard parts, the softer bits that tense up under his probing fingertips. Gently feeling where there's hair growth, where he's just smooth. Frank seems content enough to just stand and look at him, when he realises what Matt’s doing. Matt’s senses are almost entirely offline, but having to run his hands over Frank’s skin is better.

He latches hands onto Frank’s triceps when he's done, and Frank dips his head to get their foreheads together.

“You're so fucking beautiful.” Frank gently strokes at Matt’s wet skin, running his hands along his arms, gently strokes his neck. And then Matt feels him move back a bit.

His hands take hold of his hips and Frank opens his mouth around Matt before he even realises Frank’s intention, before he realises Frank is on his knees. He's wasting no time. Matt gets the feeling he has been itching to do this for a while.

Frank licks and sucks and Matt threads his hands through his hair just to steady himself.

With the water beating against his face and chest, he finds he isn't so desperately sensitive. Frank’s hands knead at his hips and his hands are warm and god, his mouth… Matt can't speak, too buried in the sensation. He just moans involuntarily, tightens his hands, runs them shakily through Frank’s soaking hair. He focuses desperately on the water rushing across his body, because he's already rising to climax. Frank expertly moves a hand to stroke him as he laps his tongue and Matt abruptly goes to pieces, lost in bright light, jerking into his mouth.

Frank stands, circles him with his arms, steadying him on the slick tiles, kisses him, long and deep, gripping around his waist. Matt clings on for dear life, feeling swept right off his feet.

“You're fucking good at that.” He breathes against his shoulder. Can feel Frank’s cock, hard against his hip.  
“Am I now?” Frank murmurs.  
“Fucking great at it I'm… taken aback actually.”  
“I can see that.” Frank chuckles.  
“Don't get any big ideas though I’m -ah- sensitive as fuck--” He smirks, squirms. Frank’s head bows towards him to kiss along his neck.  
“There's me thinkin’ I'm just the best at sex…” he murmurs huskily.  
“You might be you might not, I'm not the best measure if I'm honest- holy shit keep doing that- I've never been impressive in the-fuck- bedroom…”

Frank continues to just lick and nibble his way everywhere and hold him firmly and Matt is melting. “Listen I'm gonna be useless if you keep doing _that_ do you want me t-to--”  
“There's no rush, Darlin’...”  
“Maybe not but you're really goddamn hard…” Matt grinds against him as best he can to prove his point, Frank’s half supporting most of his weight by now, knees turned to putty, so he doesn't really achieve a whole lot of friction. Frank grunts nonetheless and adjusts his hold.

“I’m not finished yet.” He murmurs against Matt’s collarbone, making his spine shiver in the process.  
“Are you trying to eat me…” Matt whines, not objecting in the least.  
“Already did that.” Frank says, Matt can feel his teeth against his chest as he grins, runs a tooth across a nipple. Matt loses his footing altogether at that, but Frank’s manoeuvres him against the tiles before he falls and he barely pauses his attention on Matt’s skin.

When Frank does stop, it's to kiss him, urgently, as if Matt may disappear, whatever he says about taking his time. Matt opens his mouth, greedy for it. His taste his still fully online and _damn…_ that's enough to make him ready to go again all on its own….

And then Frank _lifts him_.

“Jesus Christ you're a fucking tank.” Matt gasps when he has recovered from the sensation of it, enough to speak, gripping at his shoulders. That explains the sudden urgency, anyway. Having an idea like that. Frank grips Matt’s thighs against the tops of his hips, Matt wraps his legs around him, moans into his neck.

“This ok?” Frank mumbles against his shoulder. Matt thinks wildly that Frank should _only_ speak with his mouth close enough to Matt’s skin for him to feel the vibrations from now on.

“Good?” Matt whimpers out, incredulous that he's even asking. He's lost any remaining control over his body, he's just sort of writhing helplessly against Frank, barely keeping his legs around him. Hopes he doesn't jerk right out of his arms because there's no controlling himself now. It's just his hot body against his front and his back pressing against the cold tiles and the smell of the steam and the taste of his mouth and there's nothing else in all the world.

Frank’s so hard, trailing against Matt’s ass. Sounds breathless.  
“Do you wanna…” Matt shifts against him.  
“Right now?” Frank says.  
“God yes right now when else…” Matt moans, and Frank sets him down.

Frank’s cock practically digs against his hip when Frank brushes against him. Leaves him in the spray. Matt feels a little stranded, perched on the edge of the shower, the water blocking out most of the shape of the world.

And then he gets back and Matt does his best to plaster himself against him, feel as much of him as he can as Frank eases a leg up so that he can work him open as Matt kisses him, licking water from his face and moaning freely against his lips at the feeling of Frank’s fingers inside him.

“I'm ready, please-- please--” Matt shifts against his hand. Frank removes it, arranges his footing and squats a little to pick him up.

Honestly, the feeling of Frank’s hands on his thighs while Matt wraps his arms around his neck is enough to make him unable to speak, unable to do anything except groan and gasp and buck against him.

Frank makes the softest gasping sound as he lowers Matt onto himself, Matt’s eyes rolling back as he feels every moment of him slipping inside. So close, this way, Frank’s head bowed towards him, breaths huffing out shakily against his ear. Matt clings on and Frank trembles just a little, but then he adjusts his hold, arranges Matt’s back against the wall, and begins to move.

Frank gasps, moans, soft and breathy, somehow more open to Matt than he's ever been. Matt kisses his face and neck. Tries to tell him he loves him but just mumbles unintelligibly instead. And he does. More than he's ever felt for anyone. Shifts into him as best he can with Frank and the wall supporting his weight, clenches around him, earning a long throaty moan from Frank.

Frank’s voice is higher and lighter than Matt could ever have thought possible and honestly Matt could never have imagined he'd be making the noises he's making himself.

Frank’s movements become uneven. He pants, grunts, Matt feels him twitch inside him, gripping him close and tight and he shudders all over.

“Fuck.” He whispers.

Frank just holds him there for a moment, head resting against his shoulder, loose and blissful, wet hair trailing against his skin, then seems to come back to himself. He reaches between them and strokes Matt. He comes in a rush as if Frank’s thrown some switch inside him with only the grip of his hand.

Their panting breaths echo and tangle together in the shower, threading through the water, ricocheting off the tiles.

Matt is unsteady on his feet again when Frank lowers him down.

It's not until they're both clean and standing on a bath mat, toweling their hair dry, close enough to touch, that Matt gets the words out.  
“I really fucking love you.” Matt says.  
“Took the words right out of my mouth, darlin’.” And then Matt’s kissing him again and he's not even sure who initiated it. They break apart, noses and foreheads brushing.  
“Fuck you you're _not impressive in the bedroom_ who the fuck told you that?” Frank grins, and Matt laughs.

*

“How’s my hair?” Matt tries to figure out how it's lying, but it's longer than usual and slippery and it's difficult to get a hold of with his senses. “Think I need it cut.” He straightens the cuffs of his suit. Frank’s lying on his front across the room on his bed. He always found it kind of stark and cold, but now, Frank hugging his comforter and spread out like that, just wearing a clinging pair of Matt’s shorts… Matt tilts his head to get a better reading on the shape of Frank’s ass. Definitely compliments the bed.

“I like your hair long.” Frank comments mildly and Matt rolls his eyes.  
“I know _you_ like it long.” He says. “But I like to at least try to keep it neat.”  
“How did you know?” Frank barks out a laugh, props himself up on his elbows to mock scowl at Matt.  
“You touch it a lot. Your heart settles when you do.” Matt smiles.

“Wow.” Frank’s smiling too, Matt can feel it.

“You're the only person I've ever met who likes this stuff. Everyone else finds it invasive or tries to find some way to use it to their advantage.” He says it surprisingly easily. By rights he should still be a blithering mess. Practiced surface composure has settled over him now in the face of his impending meeting.

“How _neat_ does it look? Ignoring all ideas you may be currently experiencing involving balling up your hands in it.” Matt flashes his teeth at Frank who buries his head in the comforter and groans, wriggling about in mock pain. He lifts his head again and seems to consider.

“It ain't so tidy looking.” He admits, obviously reluctant. “And it clashes with your suit. _All_ of your suits, actually.” He pouts. Matt giggles.  
“I'm delighted that you are the _first_ _person_ to point that out to me since I was 6 and my eyes worked and my mom wouldn't let me wear red when we went to church because it clashed with my hair…”  
“You mean to tell me you _knew?”  
_ “Course I knew, why else would I _only_ wear red?”  
“I had no idea how obnoxious you are…” Frank says, voice hushed in what almost sounds like awe.  
“Never underestimate me.” Matt says.

He concentrates, trying to gauge if his jacket is smooth at the back. “I think I'm ready.” He takes a deep breath in and out. Yes. He's certainly steady enough to handle Fisk, anyway.  
“I should probably get dressed.” Frank says mildly.  
“Here's me thinking you're ass is going to be a permanent resident in my bed.”  
“Sounds tempting. I'm gonna go for a walk until you're done. So I don't get murdered by ninjas while you're having your mob boss meeting.” He says it casually but Matt can hear his heart waver just a little.

“They won't come kill you in daylight. Even if… even if that's their plan.” Matt says, as if that's any reassurance.  
“Still.” Frank says. “Gonna forage for doughnuts.”  
“Don't eat too many. I wanna take you out for dinner.”  
“Ok sweetheart.” Heaves himself up to kiss him goodbye. Matt leaves before he has time to second guess it.

*

It's easy to talk to Fisk. They have a similar manner of logic and drive. That's what Matt keeps telling himself on the way to the prison. He's not nervous, is the other lie he repeats in his head, drumming the fingers of one hand on his cane in the back of the cab and focussing on the passing smells that the air conditioning doesn't quite fail to filter out.

He feels like a graduate again by the time he's being patted down and ushered through security and he curses himself internally. He's outwardly composed himself by the time a guard has directed him to Fisk’s position at their usual table. “You’re very punctual today, mr Murdock.” Fisk says. Matt masks the sinking feeling before it appears on his face with a smirk.

“I could say the same about you.” He seats himself with his customary neatness opposite Fisk at the visitation table. Fisk chuckles. A light sound that holds deceptive danger, Matt knows.  
“Yes, well. _I’m_ not going anywhere.” Fisk steeples his fingers and leans towards him. Matt makes himself stay very still, then he tilts his head.  
“I had hoped we would get to business, before that sort of thing.”  
“This _is_ business.” Fisk says evenly. “This morning I was informed via a trusted contact of mine that you would no longer be conducting business on behalf of our Japanese friends.”  
“I was finding their rule rather limiting.” Matt waves it off, but Fisk doesn't let it go. Matt feels his face sour and harden.  
“I have been willing in the past to overlook your… less profitable enterprises, but in light of this new development, can you guarantee to me your usefulness, Mr Murdock?”  
“My _less profitable enterprises_ are _necessary_ for business and as for our Japanese _friends_ , our interests were no longer compatible.”  
“No longer compatible Mr Murdock, or did they _fire_ you?”  
“You know that’s not how it works.” Matt forces himself not to shift uncomfortably, makes his shoulders stay rigidly back and powerful.  
“Still, this does not fill me with confidence as per your willingness to do what _needs_ to be done-”  
“Wilson, cut the crap. We both know you'd be on death row without my intervention. It is only my expertise that has landed you in this relative comfort.” Matt snaps out, and it's as if the tension has been broken.

Fisk chuckles suddenly, Matt can feel that his face has relaxed again.

“Please forgive my little test, mr Murdock. I had to know if you were prepared to fight for your position. I had heard rumours that you were becoming...soft, for one reason or another. I know better than most that love does not make one less… sharp. You do not disappoint.”  
“Mr Fisk, I expect a little discretion in future, please. I think we have worked together long enough to render such nonsense unnecessary.” Matt smiles at him, a little sourly.  
“You know how it is, Mr Murdock.” Fisk is somewhat above merely _shrugging_ but he does something not-quite. “Had to test the tempering was… holding fast.” Matt pinches the bridge of his nose, doesn’t trouble to hide his impatience.

“Always, Wilson.” He sighs. “I was raised for that, if nothing else.”

“Indeed.” Fisk leans back in his chair. “I’ve been saving it for one of these such situations, to pull it out at you with false displeasure, but I do respect a man with care for charitable causes. The orphans and blind children funds, Matthew, you didn’t have to keep these things from me. You know I have a heart, after all.” Wilson’s lips are drawn back, but without his eyes, Matt is forced to read his heart rate, his bloodstream, for clues as to how genuine he’s being, here. Is this a warning? Some sort of threat? Or, is he paying Matt a real compliment. He’s unreadable. Matt can’t seem to focus hard enough to pick up anything but his faultlessly steady heart rate.

“I’m full of surprises.” Matt says, trying his best not to sound too careful.

“And so, to business.” Fisk says, and with that, it’s as if the little confrontation never happened.

Matt falls into the swing of it with thankful ease, managing Fisk’s affairs is something he could do in his sleep at this point. There is barely any new trouble to contend with. A new inmate to dig some dirt on to discourage him from bothering Mr Fisk, and Matt’s packing his papers into his briefcase in no time.

Matt takes a moment to check his phone while he waits for his cab, reading a text from Frank on his braille watch display.

“Getting clothes from my ap if you get back bf I do x” He reads. Wow, a whole kiss. Frank texts like such a dad. Or, well, Matt supposes anyway. Message received half an hour ago. He’s probably still there.

*

Frank’s roof window is still boarded up rather than replaced, Matt notes with an internal wince. He gives _that_ particular memory and the window a solid bypass and alights gently on the fire escape. He knocks, right before he senses not one but _two_ inhabitants. Oops. He reaches out with his senses, suddenly tense, while he waits for Frank to lumber up to the window. It’s… he’s pretty sure a woman? Yes, woman, definitely, she’s calling after Frank. It’s _not_ that detective woman. Then who…

“Matt… I…” Frank turns to look from the woman in his apartment and back to him again. He’s _rattled,_ it descends on Matt in a sudden wave. More so than he was the other night after he attacked Gwen. _Scared_ actually. More than when his life was in danger, more than he had been at the sight of Matt bleeding out on his couch all that time ago. “Uh… come in.” Frank says a little helplessly.

“Sorry I didn’t hear you had company.” Matt whispers, and Frank just shrugs.  
“Doesn’t matter.” He says, a little dully.

“Matt, this is Maria, Maria, Matt Murdock.” Matt swallows the ‘oh’ that wants to blurt from his mouth and sticks out his hand for her to shake. She takes it, but only after her head turns in the direction of the cane he’s still holding in one hand. Always stings a bit, when people treat him differently.

“Hi… Matt…” She is _also_ afraid, very much so, Matt notes, but also, her tone is mildly suspicious. “Any use asking why a blind man just appeared on my ex husband’s fire escape..?” Something about her pulls something distinctly _sheepish_ from somewhere inside Matt and he has to work hard not to shift on his feet in reaction, like a student explaining himself to a teacher. He wants to call her ‘Ma’am.’ The excuses completely fall flat in his head, rapidly and one by one being abandoned. _I got lost_ is an immediate no-no, not being ten years old, as is _I wanted some fresh air_ and _I was planning a surprise._ Time is wasting.

“I forgot my key.” He says, wondering how he managed to ever get through law school. Something about this woman throws him _way_ off balance.  
“Right.” She says, and luckily for him, (maybe) she’s too distracted by whatever is making her and Frank’s heart’s keep double time to question his lame excuse.

 

“Did… something happen?” Matt knows that people make themselves sound slow and gentle in times like these. It’s not a tone of voice he has any particular practice with, but he does his best. Frank doesn’t seem to know what to do, pinned between Matt’s concern and Maria’s eyeballs, he shifts on his feet, swallows and nods.  
“We can tell him Maria he… might be able to help us.”  
“He’s… _not_ a detective?” Maria looks him up and down. Matt knows he hardly looks like one.  
“No. He’s a lawyer but… he has connections.”  
“You called him?”  
“No, I didn’t…”  
“He has a key.”  
“Oh. Um. Yeah. We’re uh…” Frank’s voice is rumbly and halting. _Awkward.  
_ “I knew you had someone else.” Maria waves her hand dismissively. “I’m glad you got back to apartment window terms after whatever happened. Hope you know what you’re getting into.” She says to Matt, who has to choke back the bark of absurd laughter at that statement.

“It’s Lisa.” Frank’s voice is small and croaky. Matt’s chest tightens. He waits, holding his breath. “She’s been… kidnapped they… we don’t know who they are.” It’s a lie. The Hand, then.

No.

Matt’s own heart thunders, threatens to overwhelm him for a moment.

No. Hold it together, Frank needs you to hold it together, needs you to fix this mess you’ve gotten him into. Again.

“They said no police besides _you_ and, God, Frank, they’re going to wait 24 hours before they call you with demands I can’t wait that long I…” Maria’s cold facade has real, deep cracks forming in it now.  
“We’ll get her back. I’m going to make some calls. I know people who can help.” Matt rambles, and yeah, he means _person_ really, and god knows if Elektra is speaking to him just now, after seeing first hand Foggy all fucked up by Matt’s attempt to _murder him_ … No, no, not now. Don’t do this now.  
“I can get her back Maria.” Frank is saying and Matt’s head snaps round to face him.  
“What are you going to do?” Maria scoffs, voice vicious with terror and anger. “Be that monster again, but for _our daughter_ this time?”  
“No.” Frank says quickly, voice firm. “Not that. But I will, I _will_ get her back to you, Maria, I promise.  
“Your promises never meant shit before.”  
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Maria, but you have to trust me.” He takes her shoulders in his hands, ducks his head to catch her straying eyes. “One last time.”  
“This is because of you, isn’t it.” She isn’t accusatory. She knows it’s true. She just wants him to say it.  
“Yes.”  
“Frank Castle…” She starts, voice quiet and shaking and Frank’s hanging his head, heart pounding.  
“No.” Matt blurts before he realises what he’s doing. He blinks. Takes a breath. They’re both staring at him, Frank is frozen.

“No.” Matt says again, quieter, and sighs. “Frank saved my life. More than once.” He says, hanging his own head a bit. “And they want me dead, so. This is. A trap for me. I’m… so, so sorry for bringing this down on your family.” Matt approximates her eyes with his. “See it’s…” His eyes burn and he sniffs impatiently. “It’s not what _I’m_ getting myself into. It’s what Frank is. I’ll do everything in my power to get her back. Before the morning.”

Maria stares at him for some time. Then, as if a spell is broken, she stares between Frank and Matt.

“You’d better, if this is your fault you fix it. Just fix it.” And with that she strides out of the apartment. To her credit, she makes it to her taxi before she starts to cry.

The two of them stand there in silence for some time. Matt feels Frank straining to hold it together. He moves to him, reaches hesitantly. Frank shakes him off, blinking hard, turning his head from side to side.

“No.” He says voice choked. “I’ll break, Matt I’ll break. We have to get Lisa, we have to save my daughter.”  
“Right. I’ll get Elektra.”  
“I’ll get her, you look for Lisa, you can do that. You can, do that?” His brow furrows and as he asks it again, softer this time. Touches Matt’s shoulder, so gently, and Matt has to steel himself at the knowledge that Frank is still thinking of him, even now.  
“Of course. Anything you need.” He turns back to the window.  
  
“Matt. Wait.” Frank rubs the back of his neck distractedly. “This isn’t your fault.”  
“Kinda is.” Matt says softly.  
“There are cultists trying to control you.” Franks says with a weak little smile. “What they try to do that is not your fault.”  
“I’m going to find her, Frank.”  
“Ok. But get safe and call me when you do. We need a plan. You want to help, what I really need from you right now is for you to keep yourself safe so that we can make a plan and do this smart. I can’t… Matt I can’t have you doing something stupid and getting yourself killed.”  
“I won’t, Frank.” Matt says heavily, can’t pretend it hasn’t crossed his mind.  
“Promise me.” Frank takes a step towards him.  
“I promise.”


	10. Chapter 10

“We don’t know how long it will take Murdock to find us.” Matt actually tunes into the man’s voice before he says his name, something faintly familiar about it though he doesn’t know him personally. It’s a group of hired thugs, the sort of mercenaries the Hand turns to when they’re trying not to be quite so overt and traceable. In this case, Matt knows, it’s an insult. He is not worth the effort of sending the assassins of the Hand. Not worth the honour of being killed by one of his own. It hurts, knowing they want to deal him that one last insult before the end.

But this _will not_ be the end, he tell himself firmly, once the layout of the building is firmly committed to memory and he is scaling and swinging his way back to his apartment. He doesn’t expect Elektra to be there. Doesn’t expect her to have given them anything more than whatever information she may know, if even that much.

He doesn’t check for inhabitants, just drops in through the roof access as usual.

“Honey I’m home!” He calls out with a grim sort of cheer, and moves into the living space.

Foggy.

The shape, sounds and smell of his friend, his ex friend, ex _boyfriend_ really, hit him all at once like a wall. The whole being of him seems to slam against his skull like a sledgehammer.

In reality, once Matt comes back to it, frozen in the doorway with his mouth hanging open stupidly, hair and suit ruffled and grime stained from the couple of hours he just spent crawling about on rooftops, Foggy is just sitting in a chair quite calmly. His heart rate picks up when he sees Matt though, and Matt wants to run.

“Foggy.” He whispers.  
“Don’t say it.” Foggy says. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t say anything. I’m glad you’re out and that’s all I’ll say to you on that matter. It never happened, ok?” Matt knows that Frank and Elektra are also in the room, but they may as well be alone for all that it matters.  
“How are you?” Is all Matt can think to say.  
“Fine, buddy. I’m fine. My friend’s kid just got kidnapped though. I think an old friend of mine might have found her…” He prompts. Matt coughs, shoves himself away from the wall and into the room.  
“I know where she is.” Matt tells Frank, nods in Elektra’s general direction.  
“Good.” Elektra says briskly. “I have a plan. Castle hates it. That should be evidence enough that it’s a good, well thought out plan, honestly.”

“Wait, you two are friends?” Matt suddenly backtracks and turns his head from Frank to Foggy, a habit to give them a visual cue to the other.  
“Oh, uh, yeah did I not… mention that?” Frank smiles sheepishly.  
“Since before I got DA.” Foggy explains. “I had no idea you were all tangled up with this guy. He’s trouble you know.” Matt nods, so does Frank, which is when he realises Foggy is addressing _him,_ not Frank.

“I’m… quite a lot of trouble.” Matt says, all his way with words, always having come so easily, as usual sabotaged by the shenanigans surrounding Frank. Now _Foggy_ is here which never historically helped him out in regards to his wits.  
“Understatement, but that’s a given.” Foggy smiles with a terrible level of fondness.

Foggy doesn’t even leave Matt hanging with this mouth open and no idea what to say for long enough to be painful. He gets to his feet, straightens his jacket and smiles at the others.  
“I’d better leave you to it.” He says, touches Elektra’s arm on the way past, grips Frank’s arm briefly, and then he’s gone.

Matt sits down rather quickly.  
“Ok.” He says. “Ok.” Realises he’s compulsively worrying the corner of his jacket with one hand and makes it stop. “What’s the plan?”

*

Turns out Matt has a truly stupid mask, y’know, for occasions where his _assassination assignments_ needed that personal touch.

Frank had stared at him with somewhat unstoppable exasperation when he’d produced it, at Elektra’s prompting. Frank had been so used to Matt’s apparent shamelessness when it came to the more showbiz elements of his personality, that he’s been taken by surprise when had Matt blushed as red as his suit and muttered something about being young and dramatic.  
“Listen I don’t want to know that you were ever _more_ dramatic than you are now.” Frank had said, and that had been that.

Now the mask bobs along at Frank’s shoulder. He keeps catching the idiotic bright red carved demon face in his peripheral vision and getting a slightly dizzying rush of ‘ _oh god what are we doing?’_ but he figures he’d be getting that anyway.

Because, somewhere in the building they are approaching across the rooftops, is his daughter.

True to his word, Frank is not wearing his skull vest. It would be wrong, somehow, he knows. Still, he figures they must look ridiculous, cutting across the rooftops, all in red and all in black. He still can't figure out how Matt manages to do parkour in those red tailored suits.  
“Think they’ve seen us yet?” He asks the dangerously athletic shape darting along to his left.  
“I know they have.” The voice is muffled by the mask. “You can’t pretend you don’t like this part _just a little bit._ Blasting on in through the front door.”  
“I’ll like it less if we get sniped.” Frank mutters darkly.

They make a descent to the ground with one regular set of grappling gear and one ninja rope situation respectively, and then, as predicted, all hell breaks loose.

*

They actually make it further into the building than Frank was expecting, before he gets knocked to the ground the opposite side of the room to his devil-masked companion who is also struggling to get back up again by now. Happens, when you have to take out droves of mercs. _Scrappy_ mercs. Frank didn’t underestimate them, he was half expecting an army of ninjas to melt out of the shadows actually, but he can’t help but be a little bit on the reluctant side of impressed. He’s got bruises or worse decorating his torso by now from multiple shots to his body armour, shouldn’t wonder, and various scrapes and slashes everywhere else. A lot more than he would like of the blood he can feel soaked into his clothing is his own.

But, mercs or not, they’re still working for the hand and the theatrics come out full force, now they’re both tired and hurting.

Typical.

One produces a camera another two, yelling commands at each other that Frank can’t be bothered to make out, grab the red figure Frank can see across the room by both shoulders.

“Hey, hold him steady I don’t want this to blur. This is part of the paycheck. Gotta see him dead on camera.” One of them barks at another. Frank launches himself at the guy closest. Hangs around his neck until he falls to the ground, limp, and staggers towards the spectacle the other side of the room. Another man intercepts him and knocks him right off his feet with a punch to the stomach that Frank isn’t sure he could have blocked even if he wasn’t bloody and tired by now.

“Take his mask off, what are you waiting for?”  
“He’s squirming…” One of them grunts. A punch to the stomach and no amount of attempting to shoulder free can prevent the mask from being yanked off…

Elektra spits blood onto the concrete at their feet and grins, almost as deadly as Matt would have done in her place. She’s wearing a black mask tied around the top half of her head under Matt’s dumb wooden one.

“Hey!”  
“Expecting someone else?” She chuckles a little raggedly and they throw her to the ground.  
“Shut the camera off!”

*

Matt _hates_ this plan.

He guesses it’s a little easier for him to be the one die-harding it, as Elektra put it, being the one of them who can follow with his ears what’s happening to the other two.

They’re fighting their way through the first stairwell as he quickly descends unseen into a service elevator shaft and then a corridor that smells like tinned beans, before crawling into a ventilation shaft like a kid on his first hit job.

Vents are so damn _dusty._

It's near impossible to get the smell out of fabric. At the very least, he’s wearing his ninja stuff for the last time. He can burn it once this is all over.

Her heartbeat is steady and very much like Frank’s, actually, if he were a lot smaller. She isn’t as afraid as Matt would have predicted, given the circumstances, but it picks up a lot when she sees him drop through the ceiling tiles and straighten up in front of her. Her legs dangle way off the ground in the chair she's tied to.

He must look kinda scary for a normal kid.

Matt lowers his voice to some semblance of what he hopes is scared-kid-friendly. He pulls his mask off so it's hanging around his neck like a hood. Her heart doesn't slow down much.

“Hey. I’m gonna untie you.” She doesn’t say anything, Matt can feel her glaring. She gets up and backs away from him when her hands a free.  
"Are you Lisa?" Without a single hesitation, the girl punches him, solidly, square on the nose. Matt actually reels back, covering it with his hands. Lisa kicks him in the back of the knee and he actually falls into a crouch, recovers from the surprise of it just in time to deflect her next hit.

"Holy _shit_ you are _so_ Frank's kid." A breathless laugh slips out of him.  
"Mom taught me." She snaps. He's pretty sure her face is doing ‘disdain’.  
“My mistake.” Matt gets up and tracks her with a few wary flicks of his head. Raises his hands a little, palms down, a peaceful gesture. “I’m saving you.” He says, hopefully sounds somewhere near reassuring.  
“Ninjas kidnapped me in the first place.” She says slowly, mistrustful, little hands still balled into tight fists.  
“Right, this, yeah, I'm not one of them.”  
“So, it's like, a disguise?”  
“Sort of. Listen I'm a friend of your dad’s. This way come on.” He gestures. She only pauses for a moment before she follows him.

“Is this dad’s fault?” Lisa asks him at a very tiny whisper.  
“No. It's my fault. I used to be one of them and I left and now they want to kill me.”  
“So I'm a trap? For _you?”_ She sounds about as disgruntled about it as she should which is strangely heartening.  
“Please don't punch me again I'm going to have to boost you into this vent and if you kick me in the face I can't promise I won't drop you.”  
“I’m not dumb enough to kick you while you're lifting me _.”_ Lisa grumbles, but she lifts her arms and cooperates as he helps her up into the vent he just left.

Matt instructs Lisa ahead and drops down into the corridor below. She drops, he catches her, and then, just before he sets her down, says:  
“Um.” It's only then that Matt picks up the t _e_ am of muffled ninjas  
“Shi--” Matt cuts himself off before he says it and drags Lisa behind his back, raises his fists. “Cover your eyes.” He hisses. Feels her do so, back against the wall.

Glad he bought his knives.

Throws one underhand and fast, catches one in the neck. Then it's just a case of muscle memory.

It's almost like dancing.

Saying that out loud got him some serious stick as a child, but he never revised his opinion. Just shut up about it.

He twists and turns and flips in time with something classical running in his head as his focus, and all the time keeps his senses fixed on the girl. She's keeping to her word. Lucky, because Matt can't afford to hold back. They won't.

Some terribly grim part of him catches a surge of bitter triumph that they did send a team of assassins out here. Did think he was worthy of that much, at least.

But thinking about it like that gets him sloppy.

This is not his family anymore.

The thought just saves him. He wouldn't have dodged otherwise. As it is the shuriken glances off his shoulder. He just reacts fast enough to kick it out of the air and away from Lisa.

There's a sound. One corridor away. Breath that unmistakably belongs to Frank, drawing in a sharp hiss. A grunt of pain from Elektra.

That diverts his attention enough to get grappled.

There's two of them on him.

He spins to dislodge and--

_Fuck._

Years of first  _Stick_ and then brutal ninja training keep him from swearing out loud, but his useless eyes crackle with light, as if from a hundred camera flashes and he barely rights himself in time to get in the necessary throat kick.

His now dislocated shoulder locks up, feels full of white hot broken glass. Can't let his senses slip now.

Who was it that always laughed at his foot knives? Well. He kicks the spring out with his other foot and spins, flips up off the ground and neatly slashes the throat of the remaining ninja. Doesn't need his arm for _that_.

“Not laughing now.” He murmurs, because he was always just a little on the petty side.

On the way back over to Lisa, he casually kicks one of them in the head.  
“Stay down.” He tells him, then throws himself on his knees in front of Lisa. She might be crying a bit, but she's hiding it valiantly. He’d probably miss it if he could see. Matt quickly checks her over, just in case he missed something, but she's fine. She's fine.

“Hey. Don't open them yet, ok? It's alright I can tell there's no-one around, your dad and my friend are a corridor over, we’re gonna have to go save them now, ok?”  
“Ok.” Lisa nods, keeps her arm pressed across her eyes.

 

Matt reaches to take Lisa’s arm to steer her, but she catches his hand and clings on. Small and sweaty but strong grip.  
“Oh _no,_ are _you_ Dad’s new boyfriend?”  
“Uh…” they move into the corridor and Matt shuts the door behind them before they continue.  
“You are! Mom said he had a new boyfriend.”  
“Ok yeah. How did your mom know I was a boyfriend?”  
“Mom knows _everything_ .” She says, as if that much is painfully obvious. He figures she's rolling her eyes from how her voice goes. She reminds him of Ellie a bit.  
“Ah.” Matt skids to a halt. “Right they're through here, can you keep your face covered just in case please? I take it you're not going to take kindly to be trying to stash you in that broom cupboard back there?”  
“I'll punch you again.” She confirms with a nod.  
“Fair. Listen, stick to me, we’re going in, everything is going to be just fine. Pretend you're playing Marco Polo or something.”  
“You are so weird.” Lisa sighs, but she squeezes his hand just a little bit anyway.

It's a mess inside the room. At least three men are descending on Elektra and one at the back of the room has a gun…  
“Ellie!” Matt yells, giving away his position he knows, he's spun Lisa into the nearest corner behind some stacked chairs and thrown a knife at the gunman before anyone has time to react.  
“Stay there.” He orders softly, and then charges in.

Ellie is fighting with teamwork in mind now, having already kicked her nearest man in Matt’s direction before he gets there, a move that wouldn't have worked if Matt hadn't been there to break his neck.  
“ _Murdock!”_ She hisses, taking out her guy’s legs and punching him out before spinning a kick at the other man’s head.  
“It's safer.”  
“Not for him.” Ellie mutters, glancing at the man now lying at their feet. “I think we should probably help Frank.” She says casually. Matt twitches his head to find him. Immediately he knows what she means. Frank is barely visibl _e_ behind a scrum of men, everyone is using mainly fists and grunting a lot.

“Jesus, he fights like a battering ram.”  
“Language.”  
“Elektra I just killed a man.” He turns his head. “Two men.” He confirms, having sensed no remaining heartbeat from the man who caught his knife a few moments ago. “I'm sure He doesn't mind.” Ellie shrugs and sighs.  
“ _Just_ this one time, I think you might have a point there.”

They reach Frank and the three of them play pass the parcel with the ones Frank hasn't already dealt a concussion.

Frank _himself_ is once again concussed.   
“Y’know.” Matt says conversationally as he and Elektra knock two men together by their heads.  
“You wouldn't _get_ concussed so much if you didn't try and beat everyone to death with your own skull.”  
“Ran outta ammo.” Frank grunts.  
“Next best thing, naturally.” Matt grins and Frank just grunts and shoulders another unfortunate mercenary in his direction.  
“Hey El, how does the good lord feel about self defense?”  
“If you kill him after making a _joke_ Murdock I swear--”  
“You never swear.” Matt pouts, and only holds the man’s nose and mouth until he passes out. Drops him none too gently on the concrete just to be spiteful.

They're finally alone.

“Oh my god, Lisa don't open your eyes.” Frank half falls to his knees in front of her,   
“Wasn't planning on it dad.” She smiles, Frank rubbing her shoulders, checking her over for injuries before he pulls her into a quick hug.  
“We better hustle.” Elektra says, and Frank breaks reluctantly away from his daughter.  
“Come on. We gotta get out of here.”

“Your new boyfriend is _weird_ .” Lisa tells him as they leave the way Matt came in, minus the air vents. Lisa has finally been allowed to uncover her eyes and is dangling off Frank’s big arm in that unnecessarily swingy way kids have.  
“I know.” Frank grins and nudges Matt’s shoulder, eyes a tiny bit damp, half unsteady from relief and his shiny new head injury but smiling anyway.  
“I mean considering he was raised by those masked guys back there, I think he's not done _so_ bad.” Elektra shrugs.  
“You were raised by _nuns_ .” Matt points out.  
“Oh yes, ninjas, nuns, same difference right?” She snorts.

*

“I've never been one for soppy reunions.” Ellie says in way of an explanation as she takes her leave halfway back to Maria’s apartment. “Though you and Foggy could use a soppier one in my opinion.”  
“I'll think about it.” Matt says, twisting his belt nervously. “I have a lot of amends to make. Guess I have to start somewhere.”  
“You're not poison, you know. Not if you don't let yourself be. And you've left them, so. I mean anything is fair game now.” She nudges him with her shoulder. “Maybe try for less murder huh? Hey you alright?” He recoiled from her shoulder-bump automatically.  
“Oh it's just dislocated I'll…”  
“Come here I can do it. Frank, can you and Lisa wait over there? If Matt yells it's ‘cause… Er I won our traditional round of rock-paper-scissors and he's a sore loser.”  
“Are you popping his shoulder back in?” Lisa days eagerly. “Can I watch?”  
“No!” Frank says quickly.

She does, though, eyes wide and fascinated. Matt concentrates on that over the grip of Ellie’s hand on his wrist and the countdown she skips to surprise him. He does yell. Frank settles his hand on his good shoulder to steady him.  
“I'm fine.” Matt blinks the tears from his eyes and pats Ellie on the back. “Thanks.”  
“Pleasure.” She grins all too happy about it in Matt’s opinion. “I really must be off. See you around. Not _you_ hopefully.” She pokes her tongue out at Lisa and waves as she jumps backwards off the building.  
“Return my suit!” Matt calls after her.  
“I'll have it dry cleaned.” Comes the reply.  
“Bye Daredevil!” Lisa waves.  
“Please don't try that at home.” Frank says. “Your mother will actually kill me this time.”

*

Maria holds onto Lisa for a full minute, until Lisa complains. She still latches herself onto Frank after, whose exhaustion visibly catches up to him as she gets her little arms around him right there in the hallway. Maria takes Matt’s arm and steers him aside.

“Thank you.” She says, hand warm on his arm, voice sort of hushed at the sight of Frank and Lisa. Not the reaction Matt (or Frank he assumes) had been anticipating. “Sun’s not up yet. You were good on your word.”  
“I'm… y’know. Working on that. And other stuff.” Matt admits. “Listen, please don't thank me.” His voice gets a bit more desperate than he would have liked but he has to get this out. “I was only making it right.” She frowns and looks at him for a long moment.  
“And you did. Make it right. Lisa is home. There’s a team of police coming to guard us in a few hours. _Someone_ tipped off the DA and he pulled some strings.”

Maria watches him intently. “And Matt? I think Frank’s getting into something pretty good.” She says gently. “Providing you stop getting his daughter kidnapped. Ok?”  
“You…” Matt starts, and Maria smiles.  
“I don’t know what you’ve done with him.” Maria says, and her eyes are wet, but she is smiling, really smiling. “But he’s… god I don’t think you realise how much better he is with you. How he used to be. It was like a ghost came back, that last time. Now it’s like he’s come back to life.” She glances over to where Frank has his arms wrapped around his daughter, sobbing on his knees while she clings to him.  
“I’m fine dad, it’s ok, it’s ok…” He hears her tell him.  
“You got Lisa her dad back. Thank you.”  
“Shouldn’t thank me.” Matt says, shrugs. “I don’t know I did anything special.”  
“Take it from me. You did.” Her face drops a little, her eyes go wide, she would be looking into his soulfully if she could. “You did what I couldn’t.”  
“It’s not like that, Maria. You had your kid to worry about. If he wasn’t fit to be around, you did the right thing. He knows that.”  Matt says softly. “Besides, I was just there. If I helped, it was by chance. He helped me more than I helped him, I can tell you that much.”  
“Whatever you say. All turned out ok, didn’t it?” She laughs, a little choked at the sight of Frank and Lisa suddenly giggling in what has dissolved into a tickle fight. “That… is the cutest thing I’ve seen for a while.” She says. Matt is already smiling to reassure her in advance, knowing she's about to realise what she just said. Maria does a sudden nervous double-take.  
“Oh! Sorry. Tickle fight. Lisa’s wearing her dino PJs, they’re neon green and orange, Frank’s wearing all that black tac gear so it’s… it looks really cute.”  
“Oh. Thanks.” Matt grins.

“Thanks for making this non-awkward.”  
“Kinda had my work cut out, greeting ex husband GI Joe and his new ninja flame.” Says Maria. Matt just manages to realise she's grinning before he starts squirming.  
“Forgot I was still in all this.” Matt gestures to his outfit and laughs. “I don't usually dress like this I swear.”  
“Hey I wouldn't judge you if you did. If your ass looks good in it why not?” Matt snorts, taken completely by surprise.

In the end, Matt has to touch Frank’s shoulder gently, and remind him he’s covered in his own blood.  
“Oh, right.” He says, and disentangles himself from Lisa’s school art book which she’s walking him through him excitedly. “I’ll be back. Soon.” He glances to Maria who nods.  
“This weekend?” She says.  
“Any time. I’m suspended.” He giggles nervously.  
“Oh, well then.” Maria’s face breaks into a huge grin, and Matt abruptly remembers that Frank worked their relationship apart. “Not the worst thing in the world.” She pulls Frank into a brief little hug. “You did good.”  
“Yeah well. Text me when your guard gets here.” Frank says gruffly, ruffles Lisa’s hair. She makes a noise of complaint and shakes him off but she’s giggling. “Seeya kiddo.”  
“Hope you look less gross next time I see you!” Lisa says cheerfully.  
“I don’t mind when he looks all gross.” Matt smirks and covers his eyes with one hand. Lisa and Maria look like they don’t know if they should laugh, until Frank does. He offers Matt his arm.  
“Take care, you two.”

*

Frank’s hands don’t start shaking until they’re in his apartment and Matt is stitching up the deepest cut, on his right shoulder.  
“You coming down?” Matt murmurs, moving the thread as gently as he can, steadying Frank with his other hand.  
“Mm.” Frank says. Matt moves his hand to cup his cheek. His face has gone strangely slack, he's not blinking enough.  
“Listen, once this is done, I’m gonna put you in the softest clothes I can get my hands on, put a blanket around you and go get you something nice to eat. Frank’s hand jumps up to grab his hand.  
“Don’t leave.” Frank says quietly. “We can order in.”  
“Alright.” Matt pauses the stitching and strokes his shoulder.

A little later, Matt is cleaning the slash the shuriken left on his own shoulder. Frank leans toward Matt, covers his hands with his. There’s still a tremor to them, but his breathing is less tight now.  
“I can do that.” He says gently. Matt passes Frank the swab and sits quietly, let’s Frank tape some gauze over it. He take’s Matt’s shoulders and Matt reaches his hands to stroke his face. His beard is soft. Frank kisses his forehead. Doesn't need to say anything. Matt threads his fingers into his beard.  
“You're ok.” Matt whispers. “It's all ok.”

They're curled up two sets of Frank’s pyjamas. Matt doesn't even worry about how ridiculous he must look with Frank’s shirt drowning him when he answers the door for the food delivery.  
“Pretty sure the delivery people over there are used to my big grumpy self, they musta been all sorts of relieved to see you.”  
“His heart rate dropped a lot when the door opened.” Matt admits. “What did you do to these poor people?”  
“Jean says I get ‘hangry’. I’m probably infamous”  
“Well I’ve been there when you’ve been angry without the H and I don’t blame them.” Matt nudges Frank with his elbow.

Frank presses his shoulder closer once they’re done eating. Too big for it to be subtle. Matt nuzzles Frank's jaw, amused.  
“Not stealthy.” Matt says. “C’mere.” He half climbs onto him to squish as much of himself against Frank as he can.  
“Mmf.” Frank says against Matt’s hair.   
"Your beard is soft." He whispers. Frank chuckles.   
  
Matt shifts to straddle him, not troubling to make himself any more upright. Somehow they're lying on the couch together without much movement. Frank’s torso is warm and solid between his thighs. Frank wraps his arms around him, stroking his back.   
"You're like a big mattress." Matt says, still clinging on.   
"A mattress." Frank repeats.   
"All, all big an' soft." Matt is sleepy, relaxed just because Frank is. Frank chuckles, breath puffing against his face. He kisses him.

“Don’t wanna let you go.” Frank murmurs.  
“Please don’t.” Matt says, weaves his hands into his hair. Frank keeps one warm arm tight around his waist, strokes another through Matt’s hair, so gently.  
“Just hold onto me sweetheart. We’re gonna be alright. I think we’re gonna be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok just round-up left! As always, if I've made any mistakes or done anything wrong in terms of mental illness or disability or anything do let me know, there's always more to learn.

**Author's Note:**

> Nearly finished the last chapter, so past time to start posting!
> 
> Title from I'm Not Calling You a Liar by Florence and the Machine which was my soundtrack for this since months ago when I started it.
> 
> Thanks to squirrel_whisperer as usual for reading and helping me out whenever I got stuck on something and putting up with my agonizing over where this eventually goes.<3


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